What better way to take advantage of a peaceful people than by robbing them at fake gunpoint with the BB pistols they sell to a person of any age. I couldn't believe the realistic quality the first time I had one pointed at my face by a mentally handicapped child, but even the weight of it in my hands makes me want to pistol whip the first fool to flagrantly disrespect my authoritah (you older folks probably miss the South Park reference and that just makes me sad) I feel that I've been too cordial about cultural relationships. I think it's high time I prove that nobody fucks with America on the world stage or in a tightly packed aisle of a stationary store. You want to trust people? Not anymore, I'm gonna send you running for the hills in your soaked shorts. Fear me not my government, for guns don't kill people, I do (with the help of my gun of course).

Don't get me wrong, I paid for the pistol. But I thought about the irony of stealing it by robbing the place with their own merchandise.

I never thought I'd say this, but at some point in my old age I think I'll be a crotchety old man about some things. For example, it's easy to make fun of the grandpa that tells everyone a million times with vigor and anger about how he used to walk to school in the snow, uphill, both ways. But I now empathize with that ubiquitously known diatribe.

It occurred to me the other day that I too must go uphill to and from school on my bicycle. Yes it is possible, and with all the free time I have in my office to waste on extremely pointless (or do I mean poignant) rants. To strengthen this seemingly arbitrary rant, I made a corresponding arbitrary graph (please refer to fig. 1).

Of course rants are utterly useless with fudged and groundless statistics alone, therefore I have made a list of things I bitch about when riding my bicycle to and from work:

1) Why does the second biggest intersection in Seogwipo not have a streetlight or stop sign for ANY of the 5 roads that converge?
2) I have some grief with the lack of smog checking in Korea.
3) I will NOT ride on the sidewalk with all the pedestrians. It is a known fact that wheels belong on the road, feet on the sidewalk, and skateboards in jail cells.
4) When there is that bike lane on the "highway" sections, could you people refrain from parking your cars there? I hate getting clipped on a 30 mph downhill by a dump truck because your lazy ass couldn't park 50 feet further down the road at the parking lot.
5) Learn to drive. I learned. You can learn too.

I hate to go out on limbs, but I'm feeling so primordial I might just delve into my inner-monkey and swing from this elated and elevated branch under my feet.

I had the most rewarding and inspiring day yet in Korea.

It all started three days ago when I began teaching my winter English intensive class. Basically, I have 3 hours a day with 15 kids to teach whatever I deem dire and delightful. The first hour I split it half and half with writing and reading. My students are presented with a prompt each morning, given 20 minutes, and are expected to write SOMETHING. There is no minimum requirement, no level of expectation, no grade given... I simply kick back and wait to filter the gold nuggets during the reading portion. They know that I promise them regalement and sweets afterwards, but as a teacher I think it's necessary to increase the fluency with kids. By having them read and write everyday (at their level and interest) for one hour, I believe, is increasing their confidence in "linguistic Qi". Yes, that's right. The flow of potential linguistics accumulates within their frontal lobe and like a fire-cracker will explode from the capital orifice when the fuse of reluctance extinguishes. (boom goes the Korean student)

Anyway, back to my crackin' day...

Today was a free-flowing exercise inspired by the five senses. I set-up five stations designed to isolate each one of the five senses. At station one I enclosed the TV in a box, instructed them to plug their ears and watch scenes from A Scanner Darkly. Station number two had them blindfolded and sitting listening to the song 3030 by Deltron (aka Del the Funky Homosapien, yeah, that arrogant prick). At station number three I had the winner of all sensations: Oobleck. In case you forgot, it's 3 parts cornstarch to 2 parts water and it makes a killer procrastination device or is just plain wholesome fun. Then at station four I sliced a chunk out of my Old Spice (deodorant is practically non-existent in Korea), put it in a cup and covered it with a coffee filter so they couldn't see it. But the trick of all tricks was at station five where I blindfolded children and force fed them 99% Cacao chocolate chunks under the guise of education.

The lesson was a huge hit with the kids, but most rewarding was the writing they produced for me. I did not make them write much, but I had them write how each sensation made them feel. I got responses like, "I am very angry", "I feel punished", and "Is this crayon?" from the Cacao station. I got some great responses from the Deltron 3030, but the one that I thought I'd get the greatest responses from was almost all blank because the children a) couldn't express what they felt with the oobleck b) did not know how to describe it, even in Korean, and c) spent too much time playing with it than writing.

That was pretty much it for the day. I never have felt better about teaching. I am 100% positive that every child left with a smile on her face and that's all that matters for me. It only got better at the private lunch I had with my host-family, co-teacher, and principals. I came into it thinking:

"This is it. This is what they warned us about at the Fulbright office. I am being asked to change home-stays and they feel this is the only diplomatic way to do it. It's like an intervention. No, it's a band aid. That's what it is. I'm being kicked out of my home-stay and fired in one big fell swoop. Essentially, that's like a deportation isn't it? Oh god! Fuck you Fulbright! You didn't warn us about deportation!"

Whew! It turns out, they just wanted to praise my teaching beyond reason, exaggerate my abilities at Korean, and invite me to continue teaching with them the following year. I explained my immediate future plans, but promised them that I'd return someday, at least to visit.

The "drive" my parents took me on after lunch was probably the funniest experience I had with my host-family to date. In essence we parked ourselves on the fashion district road because that's what people do on that street is stop in the middle of the road for no apparent reason. It must be the equivalent of cruising the strip, but as I've come to realize in Korea, police don't do jack squat in this country. There will be a car parked without a driver in the middle of the road at traffic hour, blocking buses, and pissing off anyone within a one mile radius of the scene, and the police will cruise up to the car, blare their horns and wait for the driver in order to say something futile, irrelevant, and that disempowers them as an authoritative force. No tickets are issued. Nothing happens. I don't get it. In America, cops are constantly busy with crime, but in Korea crime is about as occurrent as Haley's comet. So why is it that the Po-9 don't issue a ticket to some imbecile who thinks he can leave his car unattended on the main drag? Anyway, that's what my family was doing, but we stayed in the car while my host-mom reached over my brother to give shout-outs to her ajuma friends at their boutiques. After crawling through town, we went to get some coffee, which my consumption of such brew confuses my host-mom thoroughly. She seems to believe that if I decline it once, I hate it. So when I order coffee or say that I like it, she thinks I'm lying and/or don't mean it. It's a power struggle for the waitress to finally scribble Mocha on her pad, but hey, at least I am getting to practice some Korean with my host-mom.

When it comes down to it... I finally felt desired by both my family and school. Maybe it's just been the cultural differences in showing appreciation, but having a big lunch at the beginning of my second semester clinched it for me, even if I get the shaft on cultural and social invitations for the rest of the year.

Word.

"Who is this mystery man?", you may ask. Well, let me introduce you to the man with whom I am the object of his affection. I don't know his name, mainly because Korean names sound all the same to me. Jesus, that's a pretty awful thing for a cultural ambassador to say, but it's true. I know about 14 names out of the 224 students I have (and I learned almost 10 of those today while my students made self-portrait collages). In fact, I think you're getting a little peek into my private joke that being a cultural ambassador to Korea has actually made me racist: "Haha! All Korean people have the same name and look the same too..."

Good Lord, I sound like a prick, but hey, if you don't know I'm pushing the envelope then you don't know me and need to lighten up. I embrace the humor that wavers over the edge of disaster because I know my open-mind is dragging netting wider than ever and that's purely influenced by my time here in the far east. Nonetheless, I think my jabs have become less PC, but it's like the saying I coined just now goes... Political Correctness is for the bored and boring.

Anyway, back to today's topic... your mystery man in the photo above.

I know him as The Copy Guy. He's a very nice man and in actuality, the only person to engage me in conversations and actively pursue my friendship. Yes, in all seriousness, no one at my school has attempted to include me in any activities outside of school related functions. Which is fine because they either are alkies or too Christian for my blood.

An Example of Thoughtlessness:

Alex: "I want to go to Bumsum, the island off the coast from our school, can you get there?"
Male Korean Name: "No, well, yes, you can get there but it is hard. Many people fish there or near there."
A: "Oh yeah?"
MKN: "Yes. Do you like fishing?"
A: "Sure, I'd love to go sometime, but I don't have any gear."
MKN: "Ok. " (says something in Korean to other male teachers)

The next day a car pulls up to me and it's the same guy I spoke with about fishing. He opens up his window and tells me that he just went fishing. And then he putt-putts away in his Daewoo.

Distracted yet again...

So, The Copy Guy, he's a nice fella, but the problem is that, well, he's the copy guy. His English is non-existent, and my Korean is EXTREMELY limited. But what makes the problem worse is that he's... the copy guy. What I'm tiptoeing around is the fact that being a copy guy is not a highly selective application process. If you can press buttons and not drop stacks of paper on the floor, then you're pretty much hired. This relates to our relationship in the fact that, well, he's not the fastest rat in the maze and I don't think he can speak Korean very well. And on top of that, I think he has a speech impediment. So essentially, we don't communicate AT ALL, yet he tries every time he sees me.

I applaud his efforts, but it gets more awkward than Dave Chapelle's character of the blind, black KKK-member. I really don't know how much longer I can pretend to understand what he's saying when we sit and "talk" for 20 minutes over a cup of coffee.

But really, the copy position is probably the smartest field to enter if you're on the dim half of stupid. Every time I enter the copy center at my school there are one of three things happening:
1) Smoking
2) Sleeping
3) Leaving Las Vegas (subtitled)

Smoking indoors is common in Korea, so the copy room reeks of stale smoke and printer chemicals. And in the corner of the room, the boys (The Copy Guy and The Janitor) have set up two couches, a TV, and something resembling my childhood pillow forts (which I am still not too old for!) behind a set of cabinents to make it discreet(which it is not). Now to make this position sound even more enticing, this entire month The Copy Guy has been "on vacation", but he's still at school. I entered the steamy, gassy, and smoky copy center around 11am two days ago to find my old pal passed out with a blanket covering his trousers. I left him some papers on the desk, unaware that he was "on vacation", and came back the next day to find my papers missing that I absolutely needed for my class that afternoon. I found a translator and The Copy Guy and learned that he was doing above and beyond his call of duty to get me those copies by 1pm that day. A total of 125 pages took less than five minutes, but regressed our relationship back to square one, now being merely cordial, as I begged him to get me those copies 24 hours after they'd been given to him. He acquiesced and since, well, let's just say that I drank my tea alone today.

Here's to The Copy Guy, smart enough to get the more than comfy and easiest job around.

Now that I'm back in the grind that consists of my desk, computer, coffee-maker, leaky gas-heater, and candy stash meant for my students, I think it's time to write about my hooligan traipsing through the south in a broad sense.

Let's see, I believe I left out some adventures about Bali. Arriving in Bali after spending a few days in the droopingly humid Malaysian jungle was a bit of culture shock. Needless to say, it only added to my discombobulation when it was brought to my attention that I had crossed into the southern hemisphere for the first time in my 22-year 10-month existence.

Anyway, the arrival at the "compound" was flooring for two reasons: The villa that towered over us, and the little sandwiches that greeted my clamoring stomach. Forget the 8 staff members, infinity pool, silken drapes on the canopy beds... I was down from the start with a private cook. I mean, I wish that I had the ability to cook (as you might recall, my patriarchal submissive host-mother won't let me touch the toaster), but I like waking in the morning and being poured a cup of coffee and asking for my eggs over-medium so I can mop up the yolk with those freshly made croissants.

What I'm saying about Bali is this: I have never been so pampered in my entire life. I've never had someone unfold my napkin into my lap for me. Hell, I was almost certain they'd wipe my ass if I dared ask.

I can't see my life mimicking such ludicrous vacation hospitality, but if I ever get the cash flow, and State Department warnings about Bali do not contain the phrase, "terrorist attacks are imminent", while listing the many types of threats posed, then I could consider a regular vacation at the Emerald Sunset Villa in Bali, Indonesia.

So, in Korea people do things that, to me, seemingly makes no sense. There's the people on the train platform that try to be first on the subway to get to the open seats. However, they press so closely against the doors that they aren't able to let the people on the subway car off! I don't understand how this little old woman who barely reaches my third nipple thinks she should power through half a dozen anxious bodies to get a seat that everybody would stand up and give to her anyway. Then there's the taxi drivers that ask you where you want to go, look at the address you hand them, then say they understand, but go the wrong way after you tell them to go straight, just to pull over and ask for directions.

AND THEN there's the guy that sits in the middle of the street on his chair...

But let's be honest, that pales in comparison to the absurdity that haunts the Korean streets. Oh yes, there are freaks, ghouls, and punks that roam the urine soaked alleys and dank marble lanes of the youth crammed corridors of debauchery. Places where the businessmen loosen there ties and aid drunken cohorts towards singing rooms. Where apologies are unnecessary for indiscretions, and semblances of such sorries are only mirrored and mitigated each week. Meanwhile, these distractions from civilized life are provoked further by promotional hussies in four inch inseam length spandex shorts dancing to a soundtrack evoking Tae Bo flashbacks from jazzercise junkies. But it's the drug peddlers that get my goat... damn pushers of medium grade alcohol that call themselves: Sojumen

Wait! Is that Sojuman pouring a peace offering to his northern brother Kim Jung Il?
Yes. Yes it is.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiDfTRSJIl8
Some people shake hands, others wave, but the cool kids give dap. A good cultural ambassador teaches the vital cultural phenomena of America.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dap_greeting

I have the question of the ages:

Which is more pathetic: Two drunk senior citizens getting into a slap-fight at noon in the middle of the street, or a drunk man stinking up the train with the puke that's all over his seemingly peg-leg?

Well, if you've never seen the sights of Seoul, you're in for a treat because it's got all of the above. The inebriated hordes of middle-aged men have never really struck me as ludicrous until today. I'm clueless as to why none of it has shocked me, but I need to make the statement now in order to redeem myself.

It is unacceptable for anybody to be passed out intoxicated before sundown, belligerently aggressive at noon, or uncontrollably vomiting upon oneself in public.

It's high time that the drinking culture of Koreans be analyzed. I, however, am not qualified to do such a task, nor willing, as I am a notorious loaf.

Drinking aside, I am currently involved in a whirlwind tour of Korea. Cheap accommodation in Korea can be found in the hush-hush back alleys that are strewn with the neon gyroscope guiding lovers to kinky havens. Circular beds, themed motels, excessive hygienic products, free porn, and late check-outs are all too common in the standard rooms... I only wonder what kind of pampering is provided within the walls of deluxe suites. Anyway, if and when you all come to Korea, talk to me beforehand about crashpads, I'm your informal expert these days on yeogwans, a.k.a. "love motels".

Part 2

The notion that failed to hit me while nursing blood-sucker wounds was the pathway out of the jungle. Biting our tongues, we trudged through the swampy trails and arrived back at the headquarters where we stocked up on the vitals: Toilet Paper, Cockroach Spray and Cigarettes. As we had no time to attempt the hike to the farthest hide we bought ourselves a boat taxi to a landing about 2km from the bunks. It was meant to be a little more than 45 minute hike, but it seemed that we were unaware of the two river crossings that were less than pleasant looking. Knowing that leeches would be found in the most private of places after a fording of the brown murkiness that lay before us, we sent Dylan ahead to scramble for precarious crossings. Success.

Now to avoid myself some anguish in recalling this episode, I think I'll just say that I met the most obnoxious and inconsiderate people ever... they were Dutch if that matters to you, it just surprised me... I used to like Dutch people. Basically, they hiked out to the middle of the Malaysian jungle to talk the entire time and scare away all the animals everyone else went out there for in the first place.

It was no more rude than the Australian woman who woke at the break of dawn to spray herself down with cockroach spray to protect from leeches. It made the whole place stink and gave us all headaches, but I hate to imagine what happened to her after she aimed that can towards her face. Probably dead, probably deserved it.

I unfortunately fell asleep while the Dutch kept yapping, but Dylan was lucky enough to have seen a jungle cat beneath the hide. The hike back the next day was excruciating and difficult. I nearly fainted because I was stupid enough to have forgotten my water bottle at the jungle hide. I've done a lot of hikes and I got thoroughly worked by this 5 hour hike, thoroughly.

Malaysia was followed by the utterly flabbergasting wealth that a dollar will do for you in Bali. Oh. My. God. Relaxation at it's finest.

Part 1
After the sun-scorching, beach-bumming, beer-induced haze that cleared from our minds as we entered the strict atmosphere of the Muslim nation of Malaysia, we gathered our thoughts and realized that the only sensible thing to do after obscurring our memories of southern Thailand was to enter the jungle of Taman Negara.

Taman Negara is an 135 Million year old rain forest. I don't have time to check my facts, but one of the many liars that we encountered informed us that it was the oldest rainforest in the world... then I heard him say second... then I think he said third. But maybe that was due to the lack of blood running through my body, which I'll get to in a minute.


Reading about the place and bouncing our attitudes about adventure off each other, it was decided by the collective that we just get ourselves into the jungle and figure it out from there. We aimed to catch a tour bus to the jetty and then take the longtail boat to the epicenter dubbed Kuala Tahan. Dubious planning by Evan with regards to the alarm led us to believe that we'd missed our bus, sleep passed, sense invaded and upon realizing our mistake, we bolted for the door only to be hassled by the stoned clerk who kept giving us completely inaccurate change and then a smart-ass, bug-eyed scoundrel who tried to tout his service as the best to get to Taman Negara. We ended up taking his service ONLY because it happened to be the same one; that guy's face still gives me the willies.

We made it to the jetty and onto the boat. It was a little hum-dinger that hauled us upriver at lightning speed (2 hour journey). As we scanned the banks looking for animals I couldn't help but recall the visual imagery of Apocalypse Now and make the comparison to our voyage into the heart of the Malaysian Jungle. The rain that fell on our heads was a light mist, but gradually turned into the stereotypical pounding of "Monsoon Season". When we arrived to the travel guide's floating office, they brought to our attention that they had forgotten to give us our entry permits... but I believe the conversation with Dylan went something like this:

Lady: You forgot your entry permit?
Dylan: I have EVERYTHING that the guy at the jetty gave me.
Lady: You forgot your entry permit, I know.
Dylan: Actually, I bought it and he never gave it back to me.
Lady: We know you forgot it, it's ok, they're running it up here in a couple hours.
Dylan: I didn't forget, you guys screwed up.
Lady: It's ok that you forgot, just wait here.

Our second liar in a matter of minutes was the guy that tried to get us on the tours. We told him we would stay at a hide tonight and he asked which one. We informed him that we haven't booked it yet since we just arrived. We told him which one's we wanted to go to, and he told us we couldn't go there without a guide. LIAR!


NOTE: If you ever go to Taman Negara and don't want to go with a group of diet-coke drinking, squimish-looking, polo-wearing yuppies, then don't give into the lure of the guides. It's real simple to just get off the dock and ask any local looking fellow. There are lot's of free-lancers that need some work and even if you don't want a guide, you can just follow your instincts and scramble your way down the paths to hides, just book them ahead of time with the Wildlife Department.

Anyway, we set out to a close hide for the night which we had to ourselves. If there is one thing I learned about the Jungle it's this: Leeches are everywhere! It was halfway into our walk as the sun was setting upon us in the ever-intensifying cacophony of night horrors that we decided to see if we'd been latched onto yet by the blood-suckers. We started pulling them off with lightning quick percision plucking from our shoes, pants, socks and skin. It wasn't until our arrival at our destination did we take off our clothes and realize that we were covered. Essentially, we were completely unprepared to enter the jungle. My socks were too bloody to keep, our clothes were soaked in sweat from the humidity and everything else about us was muddy.

Apparently the best way to remove leeches is to burn them off with a cigarette. The problem with that method is that you can only do it once they have sucked enough blood out of you so as to do it without burning yourself. I found that the bleeding never stopped because of the venom they inject to keep your blood from coagulating. So I took the liberty of thinning my blood with the cigarette to get that vile biochemical out. Then to stop the bleeding, if it really bothers you, is to take some of the cigarette ash and shove it in your wounds. I questioned the sanitary practices, but the man assured me that I would not get infected. I'll believe anybody when they're holding a burning cigarette next to my skin. I'm not sure if that helped at all; I ruined several pairs of socks regardless. I'm pretty sure that I hate nothing more than leeches.


We stayed up that night to see some animals, but the views were poor and all we saw were eyes in a tree and some geckos. It was the next day that proved a little more successful for us.

to be continued...

It's amazing how long 24 hours in Bangkok can last. I'm tired. You get nothing. Zilch. Here are my words of wisdom: If you ever get the chance to go to Kuala Lampur, don't take it. The difference between 24 hours in Bangkok and Kuala Lampur are staggering.

Have you seen the movie Me, You, and Everyone We Know? If you haven't I suggest you go rent it tonight in order to make this funny for you. If you have seen it, then you know what this means: ))<>((
Now I swear on everything that is holy that I witnessed two dogs performing this act while visiting a hilltribe Friday in Northern Thailand. I believe that was after we stopped at a little market where we were most likely the first white people many of these children had seen. I was offered a glass of home-brewed whiskey by some of the patrons and farmers. At first I thought they were offering me water because it was clear and was being served from a reused beer bottle. I refused at first, not wanting to get a vicious spell of the backdoor blitz, but when I realized that the toothless man offering it to me reeked of alcohol, I couldn't refuse the offer anymore. It smelled like whiskey, but tasted like I imagine turpentine does.

The booze was a nice pick-me-up after our hike around the reservoir at Takhrai National Park. Reading the only available English pamphlet on the place, I informed Kate that native specimens included Deer, Gibbons and Tigers. Failing to see all three, we did run across a cattle grazer taking his dozen "water buffalo" out for a walk to drink the from the wetlands where the reservoir starts. On our trek past the him, his cattle and what I assume to be his concubine women gathering "water plant" from the banks of the river, we stumbled across his home after taking a wrong turn on the path. We eventually found a path that was obviously no longer in use, or hadn't had visitors on that section for over a year, and made it back to our perched pad where I took a nap and Kate schmoozed the caretaker who we were told "does not speak". Everyone Kate tried to talk to this weekend didn't speak Thai, but Lanna, which is a northern dialect. She could have fooled me though since she managed to get our spicy noodles for lunch from the elderly woman for a grand total of 50 cents.

Our goal today was to get home, but when we pulled over on our motorcycle to ask for directions (kate was driving), we slid out. I got pretty angry since Kate crashed and I was on the back, but when I realized that she had sustained most of the damage, I felt like justice had been served. It's pretty powerless to sit on the back and when you put your faith in someone's driving only to crash in a driveway at 5 miles an hour, you can get bitter.

Kate's nursing her wounds and I'm drinking chocolate milk. Everything is chill on the eastern front.

Happy New Year.

The thing about Thailand is that it models itself after the national flower, the orchid. Everyone knows that the orchid is beautiful, often fabled to have rare strains so magnificent they'd knock any Rico Suave to his feet in tears of joy. That is how I find Thailand. I just can't get enough. Though I have complaints about the air quality in the cities and roadway customs, it's nothing you can't find pretty much anywhere else these days, so it isn't worth the verbal lashing. LA driving is probably just as dangerous really. I guess I should stop my blathering and tell you all a little about he last few days:

I've mostly been around Kate's school, it's pretty hard to walk anywhere without getting stopped and chatted to by the students. But if I'm with Kate it's even more ridiculous. I forgot how much Kate just stops and talks with people even if she's late for something... she'll just walk through the school like nothing is more important than meaningless chit chat. I love it. Then when we get to the Teacher's room that's when things get weird. There's this one teacher who looks like a Thai version of Cher and just stares into my eyes all day long and repeats in English, "I'm in love with your eyes. I want your eyes." It freaks me out. Then whenever I talk to her, she turns around and repeats the exact conversation we had 1 minute ago to Kate, who heard it all, and probably doesn't care about the woman's constant flattery towards me.

One of the coolest places we went to was the Samkamphaeng hot springs. It was an obvious tourist spot as opposed to my favored secluded spots, like Sykes Hot Springs, but the fact that they created a tub specifically for boiling eggs blew me away. It was too bad that the suggested times for boiling was all wrong and my eggs were still runny, therefore ruining my entire trip to South East Asia. But the hot springs made up for it by having a sign next to a restaurant claiming that they had "clean food and good teste".



It was a good thing I got my haircut because the next day we went to the Consulate General's for lunch. It was just Kate, another Fulbrighter, myself, the two co-teachers, and the CG's family. It was a pleasant Thai lunch with lots of lip-flapping from the CG's husband. I got pretty annoyed with the other fulbrighter's ass-kissing and shameless self-promoting, but it paled in contrasting embarrassing behavior. Kate burped in the Consulate General's face while in exclamation of pumpkin pie. Then after getting my camera back from security, I pulled a move my mom would do and started taking pictures after I was told not to--but they gave me my camera back, so screw them--and the guards got me busted for doing reconnaissance work on the residence like the terrorist I am.

That evening we motorcycled into town and met up with Kate's friend Maam and ate dinner at her work, which is a cashier at Thailand's equivalent of Costco, dubbed Tesco Lotus. I couldn't control myself and ended up buying things that I have struggled to find in Korea, i.e. Nutella and undershirts. But of course we couldn't help but stop at the photo booth and create some of the raddest photos ever. I wish I had a scanner to put them up. It was about as hilarious as the class in which we taught "give me some dap". After our stunning model shots we went downtown, because we couldn't figure out how to leave the city, and we saw a baby elephant being taken for a walk. It reminded me how much fun it'd be to have a tame jungle cat as a pet.


Kate just made me get up and try her papaya. I told her, "I hate fucking papaya", but she didn't believe me. She claimed that it's the best papaya ever, but I tried it and only tasted vomit inside my mouth. She's sitting outside offering it to all the students and staff that walk by, but she's been shut down EVERY TIME with her generous offerings... I think it's because Thai people are smarter than to eat papaya and it's a big joke Thais play on 'Farang'. Papaya sucks. Don't try and tell me different.

Yesterday was a strange one too. I was invited to Kate's co-teacher's birthday party in the English Department (they seem to be fond of luncheon parties at school). I failed to bring a present so I played and sang songs on guitar for about an hour and a half. They busted out these ancient song books and we played such classics like "Down on the Corner", "Horse with No Name", and "Leaving on a Jet Plane". Then I asked Kate to help me get a Thai massage, so she called the woman that normally comes to school and works on the teachers, but she was unavailable. So I was led to this place by another teacher. I wasn't told until I was inside the place, that this was a blind massage clinic. So yeah, instead of getting massaged by a sexy Thai woman, I was punished by a blind man. Seriously. I felt like I could have spent the same amount and it would have felt the same if I'd just propositioned a homeless man to beat me with sandbags. I'm hurting, probably from the cracking of body parts I never thought possible to crack.

Afterwards we went to the floral festival. We got there and turned right around on the shuttle because it was closed. Everyone told us that it was open until 8, but that was a damn lie! The outside looked cool though, real cool. As we waited for the bus, this woman asked Kate in Thai how many months pregnant she was, but when I turned around to shake my head no, she just nodded as if to tell me it was mine.

The rest of the evening went along like any would at the night bazaar. I bought pirated dvds, Kate bought some earrings, and we both steered clear of gypsies. In a nut shell, I love Thailand.

I just had my hair hacked at by a drunken hairstylist. It's all good though since I spent a grand total of 2 dollars for a wash and cut, and then drank my money back and more with her friends inside the salon for the remainder of the evening.

Also, for the first time in Asia, I've been given a compliment that doesn't have to do with my eyes, face, or height. I have been told I'm smart on several occasions today... I think they might have just been humoring me since the conversations went something like this:

"Hello."
"Hi."
"My name is Bang."
"Hi, you can call me Alex."
"Ohhh, my friend tells me you are smart."
"Who's your friend?"
[no answer]
"Ok, well, nice to meet you. And if you friend thinks I am smart, then maybe you should wear a helmet when you ride that motorcycle."
"See you!"

My flight to Bangkok was peaceful, for a while. I got to catch up on some sleep I missed while trying to rest the night before in the airport. The flight was normal until a hot-headed Korean man assaulted two of the crew for falsely accusing him of smoking in the bathroom. I witnessed it all and this is how it went down:

Male crew member stops female crew member in front of the bathroom door and they seem to discuss the smell emanating. They begin knocking on the door, but no response comes from within. They conclude that either way, something terrible has happened, e.g. stroke, slip and fall, or smoking. They knock for several minutes and finally the man comes out. The crew starts talking to him in English, because they only speak Thai and English, and they ask him for his passport while one goes inside to find the evidence. But the man is frustrated immediately and starts yelling in the little English he knows, "God Dammit!", and he starts getting belligerent by hitting the door and walls. While this is scene develops the other bathroom door opens across the aisle and the smell attracts the male crew member. He realizes it was the other guy and asks him for his passport. The female crew member explains herself quite eloquently and politely and apologizes profusely for disturbing him, but reminds him that he must respond while in the bathroom for the safety of everyone on board. He continues to yell while they deal with the smoker, his manner makes it seem like he just wants attention. So, on his way back to his seat while the male crew member makes his apology, the man pushes him in the chest, and then takes his book in hand and hits the woman on moderately hard on the arm. The passengers gasp and this big old Thai dude wearing a Naval hat jumps up and steps between them making sure that this Korean knows he'll get smacked down if he so much looks at her again.

To make this story short, he just sat there and demanded to speak with the smoker and see a copy of the FAA rules and regulations. There were no police waiting at the terminal like you'd expect in The States, and the entire time, I was sitting in the row ahead of this guy praying that we get boarded by police and watch him get handcuffed on the tarmac. We can't all get what we want for Christmas.


Speaking of which, I celebrated the Holidays with the irreplaceable Kate Sherwood. I arrived at the Chiang Mai airport and met the gal, who then got us onto a paddy wagon type taxi where if it's full, they cram more inside and throw men on the back to dangle for their lives. Her home is a two bedroom pad on her school's campus. We got some grub for Christmas eve and she introduced me to the greatest desert ever made! It's called Rotee and it consists of banana fried inside a thin dough with chocolate and condensed milk poured on top. a-roi... masisseoyo... delicious.

Over dinner she informed me of the specific plans I agreed to for helping her with her Christmas presentation to the school. I not only was to wear an elf costume (though my specific title was "Santie"), but I would be preforming a dance routine on stage in front of all 2800 kids, plus the staff. Imagine this:


A giant elf running on stage with an American flag draped around his neck dancing and pumping his fists to the Queen song, "We Will Rock You". Thank god this wasn't Iran, I would've been shot no before the second chorus. This dance routine was somehow supposed to represent Christmas, but I don't get it. I just do what the Thais tell me to do.

I spent the rest the day acting as a cop-out for Kate to teach anything of significance, but I shouldn't dis that. It's actually a great way to get your kids to talk, by forcing them to interview the guest in class. We had lunch with the English department staff and I was accosted by pretty much all the women teachers. I quickly learned the word for handsome, but was saved in the nick-of-time by Kate and her classes desire to ask me how tall I am. I told them my sister was almost as tall and one girl screams, "OH MY GOD!!!"

At dusk, Kate and I took a leisurely bike ride through the country, stopping at Buddhist temples (wat), accommodating my excessive picture taking and watching a pick-up Christmas cock-fighting match in someone's front yard. I have to say, Thailand is the most beautiful place I've been in the world, and I've only seen 1 day's worth here, most of which was spent in a school compound. And granted, I haven't travelled nearly as much as I want to in life, but so far, Thai Thai takes the top.

Well Hot Damn! I'm almost outta here sucka, but just for some vacation exploration, then I'll be back to the grind come March. I'm jetting off this island Saturday to the cozy atmosphere of Incheon International airport where I'll wake up on a row of seats the morning of Christmas Eve to fly down to Thailand. From there, all bets are off as to what could happen. I can just assume I make it to my next flight in Malaysia and continue on to Bali, then back to Korea sometime at the end of January.

So yeah, that's my plan and I'm sticking to it. You can still email me, and I'll probably have connections along the way to hit you back with that princely wisdom you seek from me (I can only assume that's why anyone emails me, c'mon people where's the love these days?).

I'll be updating when I can, so stay tuned each week and maybe, just maybe, I'll get some pictures uploaded to my posts as I scurry along. word.

Happy Holidays.

Some recent pictures for your viewing pleasure...

I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with food poisoning, but let me tell you, it's a good time. I woke up Saturday morning around 5am and felt the urge, the incredible urge. I wasted no time with meaningless articles of clothes and ran stark naked through the house to evacuate all evil-doers from my body. If you've never felt the urge to vomit and shit at the same time, I suggest you go out, eat some spoiled meat and enjoy the ride. If you have, I'm curious to know what expulsion you chose first?

I managed to get my act together well enough to make it to the gallery party in downtown Jeju. There was no art to my disappointment, but plenty of weirdos to ogle. I still felt like I'd been round-housed with a steel-toed boot, but I'm a trooper and chug-a-lugged on till the raffle, which I didn't win. The next morning I awoke to find snow falling flurry-like all over the city. I was like a wide-eyed child who'd never seen snow before, well, I guess I WAS that exactly. My stomach felt like a weight had been lifted so I went out to get some food that was guaranteed to make me feel good... a cheeseburger.

So, 4 months into my homestay and I have yet to cook. I am not allowed to touch anything in the kitchen except chopsticks and spoons, which, by the way, I am now a 36 Chambers master of chopsticks; I can kill a man with such descreet and seemingly harmless utensils.

Anyway, I decided to be bold today and touch an appliance, for I had pizza that needed a reheating. I turned on the 1950s era toaster oven and walked away. I come back 5 minutes later and it is clear that though it's timer is ticking, there's no heat. How can this be so complicated? There's one control, that's it, one! My host mom walks into the kitchen to discover my meddling with her domain and proceeds to pull me out of the way and show me how to plug it in.

I was backhanded pretty hard by my propensity to prove that kitchen's aren't just for 추 부 's. 4 Months out of practice cooking will make you pretty dumb I guess. I'll never touch another thing in the kitchen for as long as I live in Korea.

It has come to my attention that I shall be insurance-less beginning the moment I step back onto American soil. In order to navigate around this seemingly impossible obstacle, I have decided to be an active proponent of socialized medicine and only live/travel in countries with such programs for it's citizens. The only problems I foresee are a) acquiring proof of citizenship and b) speaking swedish.