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.

So I write this as I wait for the food my host mother ordered for me. I got home this afternoon around 5 having not eaten anything all day except 3 cups of coffee and a strawberry cream puff. I stopped at this place called Vavas to get one of these things that I've been eyeing on their sign for a while, turns out it's just a waffle with ketchup, cheese, a single slice of peperoni, and msg inside. I then figured I'd stop at the street vendor that lives outside my house, but she was closed down. I actually think she packed up for the winter, but her truck is still there and I guess it's not a crime to leave your car obstructing the roadway for multiple weeks because now that I think about it, I haven't seen her since I went to Seoul 3 weeks ago. Anyway, I got home and my host mother informed me that she had a toothache and was going to the bathhouse so she would not cook dinner tonight. She told me that I would go out to dinner with my host dad and brother, probably because the dad doesn't know what a stove is and doesn't want his son to prove how domestic he can be (that's another story for another day). I should make it clear that the dad also confirmed this time with me when he came home. The point is with all this banter, that at 7pm when I was informed we would go across the street to eat, I realized that the brother was still not home. I had no problem with his tardiness as I was catching up on some of my old favorites, such as The Negotiator with Samuel L. Jackson and Kevin Spacey (I'm aware that that phrase is used with novels and not movies, and that's the joke). God, I'm totally distracted, I need that fucking food. I'm not even writing in paragraph form, Patrick's gonna rag on me for sure. Ok, so then, after the movie finished, I realized that it was 7:30 and the brother was still MIA and the father behind his closed bedroom door. So I knocked on the door and heard no response. Then, like magic, the front door swung open to reveal a strange man. This man came to change the lightbulb that my host father has been struggling to change for 2 weeks. I'm not joking. I would have offered to help him, but I just don't give a damn about it, and it's funnier to watch him stand on a chair for 10 minutes every other day and fail. I constantly think about the joke: How many ______ does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Unfortunately, he wasn't able to finish the joke for me because he called in a professional (the guy even brought his own step ladder). Jesus Christ! I'm off the wall with hunger. Ok, so after said repairman enters, I think to myself, "oh, maybe I was supposed to meet them at the restaurant at 7pm! When did the host dad sneak by me? Shit. I should go and see if they're there!" Well, I debated my tactic, because as those who have visited Korea know, you can't enter any store, restaurant or department store without being doted upon and (in my opinion) harrassed by the employees. So I figured I'd just sneak around and look through the windows of the place. It didn't seem out of line to do because every local here assumes I'm a criminal anyway. But just as I was putting my sweatshirt on, the door opens again, but this time it's my host mother and she is curious as to why I'm not at the restaurant. She asks if we already ate and I say, "no". She then marches into the bedroom and starts speaking (though it all sounds like heated language to me) to the father. I can hear his responses and he's just groaning, not out of pain, but annoyance; also, "uh" in Korea is slang for "yes" which is what I heard a lot of from the bedroom. There's actually no bed, so I guess it should be called a yohroom, but that's besides the point. THE POINT IS, my father is a deuchebag and could have at least told me that we weren't going out to eat, which I still wonder why we didn't. Some things will remain a mystery. And look at this perfect timing (well I guess you can't see, and for most of you it's way past the fact), but here is my Dol Sot Bibimbap!

Most things are going swimmingly on the Eastern front, but my host father is kind of a tool.

Dear Mr. Oh,
I was hoping we'd get to bond a little bit this weekend during that fishing excursion you proposed for Sunday. Instead, you woke up the house by banging away at a piece of shit coffee table for the house. You didn't fool anyone, we know you didn't make it yourself. It's ugly, clashes with all the other mismatched wood in the house, and smells like a combination turpentine and urine. You also have no feng shui with furniture and I'm surprised god himself has not reprimanded you for your lack of taste. I hate to tell you, but your "natural" looking table is atrocious and in America that kind of ineptitude is worthy of divorce.

The fishing trip would have redeemed your poor purchase, but as usual you disappeared and left me to wonder if you really meant it about the fishing trip. I'm just fortunate to have been pseudo-adopted by Rafiq's family. They took me orange picking, which, I regret to inform you, we were also supposed to do LAST weekend. I wish you could have seen the teachers' faces when I told them that I didn't go orange picking, they read "liar!" all over. You're dead to me Mr. Oh.

But don't get me wrong. I still want to live in your house. It's quite convenient and your son needs a good role model since you lack the neccesary skills. Hell, the electric blanket alone is worth enduring you. Maybe I just have high standards for a father, maybe I'm still pissed about you laughing in my face, or maybe it's just me, but either way, you suck.

Sincerely,
The guy who lives in your house and eats all your kimchi when you're away.

Let me tell you a little story about a little country...

Once upon a time there was a country far far away in a land between China and Japan. In this country, little people wandered the land in great spirit and nearly magical presence. They harvested their crops from terraced gardens utilizing all that nature had provided. As strong willed as they were, they continued to prosper through hard times and famine. Through occupation and war, the country stayed strong and continued their 5000 year history to this day. Priding themselves on their strength and health, they passed upon their youth ways to insure a long life.

To this day, exercise and food are of utmost importance to the people. Everyday, one can visit the great nation between China and Japan and witness the roaming hillsides with magnificently groomed walkways for the thousands of citizens a week that claim it as a second home each weekend.

In their food longevity resides too. Their national dish is famed to prevent cancer, aging, SARS, Bird Flu and the common cold. Not just a few, but all 100+ versions of this dish fight the same diseases with 5000 years of perfection. It lies in their meat too. As another famous meal is cooked over the fire, restaurant patrons know all too well the negative effects of charred meat. Anything charred has the potential to cause cancer if ingested enough.

These people run the gamut of health consciousness, that is, until you live in and witness the atrocious phenomena that hammers health like a nail with a sledgehammer made of danger.

Example A:
Though Koreans love to exercise and keep their bodies in tip top shape they have some follies when it comes to water breaks. It is all too common to witness soccer, basketball or badminton games where the breaks entail half the team lighting up cigarettes between halves. Nearly every male in this gloried country smokes, and I'm sure that the copy guy at my school would smoke mid 11km swim if he wasn't immersed in water.

Example B:
Many Koreans use the more economical method of transportation like mopeds. But there are limits people, to the number of people allowed on these things, and it's for a reason. Hey Pops, I don't think it's safe at all to have your 6-year old clinging to your chest like an ape and your 15-year old daughter sitting side-saddle on back. Just a thought. Tell your friends not to do it either.

Example C:
My heater in this here 4th floor haunt uses some sort of gas, maybe white fuel? Whatever it may be, during the 5 minutes it takes to fill the gas can, it's not very safe to be smoking a cigarette inches from the flowing gas which comes from a massive storage container above ground that holds enough gas to blow up all 700 students and 50 teachers within these walls.

But, they still managed to live happily ever after.

The End

What time is it?!?! It's rant time...

I hate to be a sourpuss, but sometimes I just want to shake a Korean and ask "WHY!!!?!?!?"

This is what's killing me today. I asked my co-teacher to help me buy a one-way plane ticket from Bali to Korea. Simple enough. I've been doing research and found some good online prices (opposed to the $1000 "sale" prices on other websites). Well, this is where things get tricky. It's obvious she doesn't want to really help me. I mean, she's willing to help, but she's not as willing to help with buying plane tickets as say the devotion she showed when the cd drive wouldn't open in the middle of class:

"It's ok, I'll just say the dialogue myself. I don't need the computer." "No, I will fix it."

The end result was her running around the school, up and down 4 flights of stairs multiple times, and tracking down the computer guy to fix it right then and there. But I'd already read aloud the dialogue and her extraordinary motivation was rendered useless at the end of the day. So why is it that when I want to save 600 dollars she just tells me that I should buy my one-way from Bali to Seoul when I am in Bangkok? This is after me squelching her earlier plan that I should by it in Bali. She was shocked that I can't buy it in Bali because you must enter the country with a return ticket, but continued with the pawning of assistance. This is blatant apathy!

Anyway, I decided to take a shot at the hardest photo project I could think of... it involves fast moving vehicles and exceeded weight limits. I'll be trying to photograph Safe* Korean Driving.

So this week I start a new chapter with my students in the textbook. Yes, my wonderful textbook. You may remember it from such hits as: Auto Safety, Teen Worries, and The DNA Century. But this month we'll be exploring the language possibilities of Have You Seen My Father?.

That's right people. In all seriousness I am teaching a four week lesson on the location of someone's father. The cultural phenomenon of disappearing fathers seems to merit a whole textbook unit however, and that's what makes me concerned. Yes, some of you may have heard me speak of this odd habit my host father has of leaving and not returning for 3 days, I am not alone on this one either (please refer to http://koreanchaos.blogspot.com/2006/11/secret-life-of-korean-men.html). When I ask the kids where their dad went, they respond with shrugs and confused grimaces.

So maybe it's not so insane to be teaching a month long segment on the whereabouts of Mr. Oh (or Kim). It's shocking that this is the norm for Korean families. The husband seems almost estranged from the family, living a double life; here one day, gone the next. And here I am as a High School English Teacher from America attempting to answer these seemingly innocuous questions for 4 weeks, when in truth I want the root of this peculiar habit unearthed. I don't care as much about where your father goes, but why? Why is this acceptable behavior for a husband/father? Why aren't family members forming militias and demanding that he return before midnight or not return at all. Maybe they should start small and ask for simple manners at the dinner table. Let's vote to correct father's, "KIMCHI!!!" to "Could you please pass the kimchi?". Yeah, that's a start. I say have the families work on manners first. Then progress to doing things for themselves, like getting the kimchi from the fridge when the bowl is empty. And after that, maybe the dads will be loosened up enough to answer some questions:

Where the hell are you going? And when the hell will you be back?

This was what I hoped my kids would produce with my Thanksgiving Lesson:


This is what 고 소 연 turned in:

One of the dialogues I collected today:

"Ouch! Who are you?"

"That is what I wonder."

"You look like me! Same! That's incredible!"

"Yeah. How terrible situation."

"Are you my doppelganger?"

"I don't know. But I want to know who we are."

"Where is your hometown?"

"My hometown is Pig's DNA Science Room."

"Really? My hometown is Pig's DNA Science Room too! But my number is 3."

"In other words... I guess we are cloned by scientist who called 멧 Pig."

"I think so too! I can't endure this situation! Let's sue the Pig Scientist!"

"Yes, I agree. She didn't ask our opinion before clone us!"

I re-read my last post and I think I owe the readers of my blog an apology. I seem to have made too many references to bowel movements. The tendency has reached its peak, and so I apologize... but I guess it's better than making too many references to my penis, right? [ahem!]

Also, I found* this great website that has archived TV shows for your viewing pleasure (much like YouTube and probably a whole lot more illegal, but I don't know anything about piracy laws so it's all legal to me). The address is: http://tvlinks.voodeedoo.org/index.html Go waste some time.

*It was sent to me by the elegant and lovely Mama Suz.

So I don't mean to boast, but I will. While you suckers were out and about on your Saturday afternoons, I was hobnobbing with the American Ambassador to Korea. He invited us into his residence for the second time this year (though this time he was actually there). The invite was for a Thanksgiving feast since we're all stuck here in Korea.

The Ambassador is a nice man. He plays in a band comprised of Ambassadors around the world called The Coalition of the Willing. His wife is REALLY something though. She's this charming, talkative, intelligent, and funny artist type. They do this great thing with all Ambassadors around the world where they are allowed to take an art collection with them to their residence. She was in charge of that one and made some really stylish choices. I loved her teapot collection, I would have stolen them out of the case and used them for coffee at our table if I could have.

The dinner was fabulous and it was great to get a little taste of some home cookin'. Despite my excessively large plate of food and consequently my pained stomach on the bed of my motel for an hour afterwards, it was totally worth it. I'm thinking that my body is adapted to the Korean cuisine, becuase everytime I have American food, my stomach gets roudy and takes it out on my colon.

Though the whole weekend was scheduled around this event, there were a few things of priority that only seoul can offer us country folk on Jeju.
First order of business: Burger King. Followed by an evening of chilled beer and hot beats at Bricx, a hookah bar in Hongdae. The following morning was devoted to shopping for those things I can't find on the island, like winter clothes. But Seoul proved to be yet another roadblock for the wickedly tall. I realize that I never went to the American district in Itaewon, but the markets seemed like a place to get big and tall clothes. I failed. I just don't care. I'm not trying to fit in with the Korean steez anyway, I accept defeat and will wear my layers of what-the-hell-is-that this winter.

After Lauryn got some shoes that were still too small and I walked away empty handed, the whole crew arrived at the Ambassador's "humble" residence as he called it. It's by no means humble, with it being a a couple acre property next to the Palace in Seoul. It has a pool, art studio, servants' quarters, circular driveway which peaks up at their home. The whole house is done in a Korean tradition and in the center of their house is a coi pond with large glass windows visible from almost any room in the house. It's sweet.

After the Ambassador's place we strolled around a photo exhibit in front of City Hall. It was creative enough as it featured photos of photo-journalists in action. The desire to take a photo of someone taking a photo of the photo exhibit which featured photos of photojournalists taking photos was squashed by the fact that I left my camera on for several hours the day before and drained my battery.

After my jaunt with the porcelain and some writhing in the motel room that stayed at a constant temperature of 90 degrees in contrast to the 40 degrees outside, we decided it was time to invade the girls' motel room around the corner with some beer and soju from the cornerstore. The pre-game led to an enthusiastic cheer from Emerald about semen on motel beds and getting pregnant... I swear, sometimes I feel like I missed the boat when these ballads emerge from Emerald.

A few of us wanted to hit the hookah bar again, so we brought a few more guests and invaded slowly. By the end of the night, with some shady directions to get to the basement bar of Bricx, I conducted a head count and we totaled near 40 people in this relaxed atmosphere. It's a good thing we were all ordering throughout the night because our shenanigans were not only unbecoming of Cultural Ambassadors (not nearly as undesirable as US soldiers in Seoul), but also just plain obnoxious for a hookah bar where people are trying to relax and avoid the hectic nightlife.

Saturday ended with a Sunday morning excursion to a dance club. Korea makes so much sense. There was a freaking locker area instead of a coat-check. How genius is that? Nothing gets stolen, the club makes their extra cash and people are just al around happier with a system like that. Anyway, it was good times, but those damned mashed potatoes decided to make me acknowledge their presence again and I decided it was time to go and vent some desperately unwanted gas.

Sunday was Insadong, the oldest part of Seoul. Some shopping and viewing of art exhibitions was indeed done, but the cutest thing ever was the 6 year old girl that walked up to and struck up a converstaion with Emerald. I'm pretty sure the girl was curious as to why Emerald was talking with the most unusual tonal patterns, but these days we all wonder why she does that.

The worst part about having a grandiose weekend in Seoul is Monday back on your bumkin island where traffic in the morning is caused by a tractor on the highway.

I sit here wondering where I should start. Where SHOULD I start? Shi Bal...

I learned that word today(not sure how it's spelled in hangeul: 시 발 ...?). Anyway, it's really my first word. The most important word one needs to know. It can describe moments of anger, exuberance, surprise, lonesomeness, disappointment, etc, etc. This word, if used as pervasively as it's english equivalent, could make my lack of Korean study these past couple months completely irrelevant, and put me back in the prime of my abilities. Why? Because I now know how to say the F-word. That's right. 시 발 , you 시 발 로 마 .

Have you ever been to a beauty pageant? Are you aware that the contestants ACTUALLY say that their dream is "world peace"? How does one choose the better contestant when ALL of them say they want to achieve world peace? Does the girl with the bigger boobs win on that round because she's most likely to make the war-mongers pause and listen to her? Do beauty pageants have any merit to them besides employing sleazy looking judges as per their parole agreements? Note: These are a few of the actual judges!

I'll spare you the excruciating agony and tell you right now that Miss Nicaragua beat all the talented young women out in the 2006 World Miss University Contest. Yes, the woman whose traditional dress made her look like Xena The Warrior Princess or a good combination of a peacock and Vegas showgirl took home the prestigious title that of Miss University. But the man of the hour was none other than Ricky Kim. The American looking MC with an impeccible accent, but the reading skills of a fourth-grader. He had the perfect MC voice too, you know, the one that makes Bob Barker sound like Alvin the Chipmunk on downers? Priceless quotes by the mind-numbingly stupid and waste-of-space MC:

"I was mesmorized by all that shaking."
"And the Teddy Bear Museum Award goes to...(drumroll)... contestant number 17, uh, 27! Miss Venezeula!"
"I wish I were a judge."

The man deserves to be shot in the head. He really was much worse than I can actually describe, but I guess he wasn't mauled by his co-host, so maybe some people found his stupidity endearing.

Highlights from the contest:

-Miss Lithuania did a dance number to a remix/medley of Meatloaf and Melissa Etheridge.
-Miss Latvia singing a song entitled: "I'm a Big Girl in a Big World." Her back-up vocalist felt it necessary to use hand gestures to articulate more clearly what the message of the song meant.
-The constant mix cd of porn music for the contestants as they did a little turn on the catwalk, on the catwalk. As they did their little turn on the catwalk.
-The ever-diminishing number of audience members. Full capacity was never acheived and I've seen more people waiting at the bus-stop. No wonder the tickets were free.
-The excruciatingly loud speakers. I'm not sure why, but it seems that everywhere I go in Korea the sound guys want to make sure deaf people can hear the music too.
-Miss Dominican Republic lost her top during a solo dance routine. I thought that clinched her for the title, but I guess that's frowned upon?

We came back later that night to pick up a lost cellphone, only to discover that these "ambassadors of peace" were tanked on the dancefloor, smoking cigarettes in the bathroom and telling each other how badly they needed sex. I wanted to stay and flirt with the World Miss University Contestants but Lauryn seemed turned off by their mindless chatter and would take no part in such shenanigans.

So Sunday was meant to be a hike to the top of Hallasan. Now, before I start ranting about Korean Hiking Culture, I need to stress the point that I was not LATE in getting started. No, I have been dubbed by Patrick Leue as "covertly on-point". He is completely correct. Yes, I put on a facade of being totally wrecklessly ignorant of time, space, and obscure laws of both science and social. But beneath that impenetrable surface of passionate passiveness, I am incredibly motivated to keep my lazy bones moving at mediocre speeds.

So this all adds up to the fact that we apparently started our trek up the mountain too late to reach the top and we weren't allowed to get to the top of Mt. Halla. I consider this to be "donkey bull-honkey"(copyright 2006).

Here's my math skills for you Korean sissies at the park headquarters: Our trek was approximately 9km or 6 miles. Having only daypacks, the weather being cold therefore not needing to hydrate as much, and being a group of 2 badass hikers, I figure the MINIMUM walking speed for us would be an average of 2 miles an hour. (That's really slow, my guess is that we would go twice that speed, if not up then down for sure.) 6 miles at 2mph means 3 hours to summit. Now, assuming it would take that long down(which it wouldn't because of gravity on our side coming home and the fact that the other trails down are almost half the distance of our embarking point), we would need 6 hours of daylight to hike up and over. The island gets dark at 6pm these days. Therefore, we must organize and depart by 12pm.
*There is no arguing that I am wrong with these details. I am as right as left can't be.

So this is where I validate my claims that Korean hiking is a sissy culture.
1) Rules for Mt. Halla indicate that you may not go to the summit if starting your journey past 9am.
2) Hiking clothes for Koreans are strictly regulated by social norms, not common sense.
3) I hate being told that you MUST wear hiking shoes to go hiking. I wear athletic shoes and will not change that habit, especially in Korea where almost HALF THE TRAIL IS A BOARDWALK.
4) When we were found relaxing and eating lunch at the second highest camp after being deterred from peaking at 2:30pm, the man was hurrying us down the mountain frantically pointing to the sun as if it were about to explode!

Here's my rant:
Look guy I know all about the sun and its tendency to set in the west each day. In fact, we've got a nice healthy relationship that functions as smoothly as clockwork, and I don't need you yelling at me to go down the mountain when I know for a fact that we will not be the last ones down this mountain. Speaking of which, did you help the girl that was hobbling down the mountain due to her twisted ankle? Maybe you need more boardwalks? You're lucky this isn't America because that girl would sue your ass for not having fully paved nature paths through national parks... and she'd win, but that's another story. And why, why, WHY would I ever want to get started at 9am with the thousands of other Koreans who hike on the weekends just to feel like lemmings, and praying to god the first person up there doesn't take a nose dive into the volcano?!?!? I like to sleep in, relax, have a cup of coffee and hike at the last possible second because that's my style, to be covertly on-point. I had it all figured out in my head. I woke up that morning did everything I wanted and needed... even had a second breakfast. I factored in waiting time for the bus and the actual ride, buying tickets, lunch, and water breaks. And you're telling me that I can't hike to the top after 9am because it's not safe?!?!? Last week I saw a guy hiking up the mountain with one leg and one crutch, and that's safer than me because he started earlier?!?! I hate you! I just. want. to go. at. my own. pace!
Oh, I know what this is all about. It's because I didn't wear the proper attire, isn't it? Well, I've seen your hiking uniforms and I say take it and shove it! This is what we wear:

I received some bad news via email today, so it is really dampening my eagerly waiting written assault on The World Miss University Contest. For another day I suppose...

NP- I love you.

"Alexuh"
"Yo, yo" (that's how I always respond to my kids)
"You are Democlat, or, uh, Lehpublicun?"
"Democrat"
"Why?"
"Because Democrats have souls and care about The People."
"Oh. I think you will win."
"Thanks, me too."

Yessseeeeeeri, Bob! And though Virginia is still in limbo and could face a stolen election upon recount (don't be naive, you all know it happened before), I was ecstatic to see that Rumsfeld resigned or got fired, I guess it's a little of both. Either way, I have restored faith in America. And if The Dems can lower the student loan interest rate, I certainly hope that it's retroactive...

Another day, another strange encounter...

So the island proves to be small once again. I saw a van pull over yesterday while I dilly-dallied my way home. Wondering who this sucker could be and instinctively knowing they were after me, I decided that it couldn't be threatening if they waited to grab me in front of the police station. But alas, it was a threat. A threat to my secular tyranny. Yes, that's right, Jehovah was back... and he was pissed! Not really pissed, he was... what's the word...? Ah yes! He was evangelical, which is threatening to me. We had a seemingly nice conversation with artistic facades slapped onto our faces. He tried to hand me a pamphlet and spread the word. I tried to refuse and imply that god was as good as dead to me. He nodded and asked if I was, "eating these days". I said yes, politely informed him that I must go, and ignored his curiosity in why I hadn't returned his phone calls. I think they got it. I think common sense clicked and he realized the heathens cannot change their ways.

It wasn't until I returned home did I realize my newly tailored jacket was too tailored. Though the guy was a professional, he must have taken some material from the upper back while thinning the tail of the coat. So that's how I found out... trying to pick up my book from the ground, only to become paralyzed by my movements.

I could write about Jeju Halloween, but I won't. I'm kind of tired of thinking about the past. Basically, I had my first real breakfast in a long time, dressed up as a culturally insensitive Sojuman, and served soju, played my tambourine, and sexually harrassed the women... all in good fun of course. But the best part was walking in costume past all the people on our way to the beach. I swear to you, it was so bizzare. But even more bizzare was the fact that no one really seemed to notice (or care).

The sun is resting its tired head upon the forested hillside separating work and play, new and old, and with the pumpkin tinted sky in my eyes, I hear the loud voice of a youth. He's approaching with two visible props for his entertainment; soccer and basketball are his games today. I recognize the kid. I've seen him in these parts before, in fact, I've taught him a little English via Mr. Spalding. He's been pushed around by some of the older guys at the courts, yet I have always felt bad for this kid. I notice after the first time on the sidelines that he's mentally retarded, and I've humored him when those kids shunned him from the park. But as he walks unabashed towards me, he is yelling at me in Korean and he draws a gun. I am staring down the barrel of his pistol, silvery, shiny; the chrome looks polished and well kept. Here comes the perfect ending to an imperfect death; life's slideshow mocking you with only 22 years worth of material. The memories stop and now amid my desperate plees my only thought is, "Shit! This is how I go down? What a pathetic way to die!" I can see the newsfeed:

Seogwipo, South Korea
Nov. 1, 2006-- Fulbright Fellow James A. Page was shot twice in the chest yesterday at Geomolhae Sports Complex. He was playing basketball when a local disabled kid approached and fired unprompted, witnesses say. The suspect is being held in custody. Page was 22 years old and a recent graduate of Pitzer College. His family was informed by email early this morning.
Anyway, after enough yelling "no" and "stop it" in Korean, the kid dropped the gun to the ground. I knew that this kid must just have a fake gun, but the notion that maybe this kid had found a gun in his parents' room and brought it out unaware of its potential danger irked me. Being mentally retarded, I did not put this possibility past him, but I just want to believe that Korean parents are more responsible with firearms, if they even have them. Fortune graced me, somewhat, when I witnessed a casual loading of the BBs into the chamber. Though pleased to see it wasn't real, I was still shaken from a few minutes before. Things abruptly changed again, when I began a duck and dodge basketball style to avoid the propelled BBs. I kept telling the kid to stop it, but he seemed to prefer repeating what I said to him whether my words were Korean or English. The game became aggravating after a few shots taken in the chest, arms, back and chin. Soon my fury began boiling inside from the surface level pain of the BBs and I spat an onslaught of English profanity from my dirty mouth as I dribbled around the court, which he began incoherently repeating with his sloppy, slurred speech. Though hurling out vile and disgusting phrases about his mother and crude penetration of non-traditional orifices (I believe I referred to the ear canal at one point), he preferred to, either knowingly or not, mock me with pellets and futile attempts at repetition of my vehement jargon. After about 20 minutes of him stopping and starting up with the target practice, I put my basketball in my backpack and prepared to go, but then the kid grabbed my fleece and nuzzled his face through it saying things to the effect of "I like it". I asked him for it nicely and put it on, but while my head poked through I noticed that he was already rummaging through my belongings. He attempted to take my loose change and I had to physically restrain him from doing so, as simple commands were not being obeyed.

Finally, I managed to get my things and avoid any point blank shots in my eyes. Though humored and frustrated with the whole ordeal, I realized the incredible cool I had kept by not grabbing his piece and throwing it over the fence or worse, beating the living shit out of him. Could you imagine the police report?

"So then the kid loaded the BBs and started firing?"
"Yes"
"And then once hit a few times, you approached the kid--"
"While being shot, sir."
"Yes--and proceeded to slap the 12 year-old victim, take his gun, shoot a round in his leg, and push him to the ground?"
"Yes, sir"
"And how did he get the gash on his face?"
"From the gun, sir."
"You pistol-whipped a 12 year-old mentally handicapped kid?"
"Uh, um...errrrr...yes."

As I left the courts on my bike, he began yelling again and I heard the authoritative sound of the pistol being cocked back and forth between apparent firings at his moving target headed home, defeated.

So I got down and dirty today and made my first batch of Kimchi. Now I really had no idea what went into the process of making that rotten dish, but when you read the ingredients you'll just be perplexed that it could make anything at all. In fact, when looking at everything on the table and on the stove, I seriously thought we were missing a couple of things: "Um, where's the eye of newt, toe of frog, and can that stove hold a cauldron?"

Anyway, here's The Oh Family Kimchi recipe:

1 flat of cabbage
1/2 large radish
2 gallons of red pepper powder
1-2 cups of salted shrimp sauce
1 handful of chives (or chive like herb)
1 handful of cilantro-esque herb (only visually. it tasted nothing like cilantro)
1 hefty pour of salted lancefish sauce
2 cups of water boiled with onions, mushrooms, and fish heads
1/2 cup raw rice powder (that's what the dictionary said...?)
and finally, a few pinches of lightly toasted sesame seeds.

1. So begin by boiling those fishheads, onions and mushrooms. Make sure that it really smells. I mean, close all the windows, and let it boil for a long time, so long that your homestay comes home and immediately suppresses his gag reflux.
2. While waiting, chop up the herbs and radishes, and mince the garlic. Also, wash and quarter the cabbage and let it drip dry.
3. Pour the boiling water into the raw rice powder or whatever the hell it is, it looks pasty. Is it paste? Can a reach in and dip my finger before she pours the water? No, just assume it's powder... but it really looks like a paste.
4. A few splashes at a time, make that demonic looking bucket of fiery red hell for your tastebuds into a paste.
5. It's time to mix in your veggies. (Note: All those vegetarians who thought kimchi was safe to eat, I just want to say... HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! There's so much fish product in this recipe!!! This is almost better than the time that I made a veggie stir-fry in bacon grease because I ran out of olive oil!!! HAHAHAHAHHA!!!!)
6. Toast those seeds. Throw 'em in the bucket. Never attempt to learn the word for seeds without consulting a dictionary; acting out "seed" is next to impossible.
7. Did you add the salted shrimp sauce? NO!?!? Oh Jesus!!! Well, do it now, I hope you didn't screw up this whole batch. God, stupid American!
8. Add a hefty pour of the salted lancefish sauce, but make sure you take a big whiff of it first. Does it smell bad? Does you brain feel like it's licking a nail polish lollipop? Does your host mother think you need to sit down and rest? Yes?
Good. That means it's still fresh.
9. Mix it up real nice, yeah, use that beefy arm.
10. I suggest sitting at a table, but you may attempt to break your back on the floor like me. Sit there and just smother every inch of the cabbage with the blood red vomit-paste.
11. Try it. Can you feel immortality settling inside your sinus cavity? Excellent.

Kimchi is purportedly one of the 5 healthiest foods in the world. I heard this from my friend Julienne. I didn't bother to ask her sources or what the other 4 foods were, but she was Miss Pennsylvania Teen in 2002, so I trust her.

The part that I'm unsure about is the preparation of the cabbage. I think you soak it in a brine, and not wash it. All I know is that extensive salt is used somewhere in the process. And the part afterwards is unclear, but I'll update this when we put the final touches on it.

Though I'm told by many that I have good Nunchi (what we might call a cross between "wit", "common sense", and "gut feeling"), I seem to have only recently realized after 2 months of eating in the cafeteria that the men and women are separated. Now, I have a female co-teacher, two in fact, and each time they are first through the serving line, they sit with the women. But since I am expected to sit with them since I have come down to their office to get them for lunch, I sit with the women. However, when I am first, I usually sit, but not always, near some of the male teachers that I like in hopes that I might actually make some friends or atleast get a pity party started through the Japanese teacher and get them to invite me out one night.

Today, my new female co-teacher told me at lunch that she felt uncomfortable sitting where she was because it was the men's table. I told her, having realized the segregation last week, "I feel uncomfortable sitting at the women's table". Our anatomical differences seem to be making it toilsome for me to interact with the people I want to befriend. It's not that I don't mind being friends with women. In fact, many of my friends ARE women, but the trouble with Korea is that I have yet to meet a woman at my school who does anything besides watch movies with her husband, go to church and read. The men are the ones who are always joking and having a grand ol' time, but I think they assume I don't like that since I sit with the women most the time.

To add on to the cultural difference brought to my attention, I was also informed that the seats I usually choose when I sit at the men's table are reserved for the more deserved teachers, like the school chiefs or senior staff. So I seem to have been cycling myself through this catch-22 of tries towards friendship. When I sit at the women's table, I either join the men and alienate my co-teachers who are my translation tools, or I sit with the women and imply to the men that I don't want to be friendly and practice Korean with them. But when I do sit with them, I violate a custom that says, "hey, I'm a hotshot American teacher and can hang with the big dogs who have taken 30 years to prove themselves".

On my walk home after another bizarre, but sublime weekend in Korea, I made note of two things that you'll experience in daily Korean life.

1) Mormons. Though they are our friends and inherently know not to try and convert me(maybe they smell the primitive earthly stains of debauchery on me), I still can't help but swearing a little under my breath as I stand on the other side of the crosswalk from them.
2) Unsafe Motorcycle Practices. I have seen countless instances of passenger riding on mopeds or motorcycles where a crash at any speed would kill someone on that bike. I hate to sound like an old fuddy duddy, but it is not responsible parenting to have your daughter side saddle on the back, while your prepubescent son nuzzles you from the front, between your legs, standing up on the platform area of the moped. Nor is it safe grandpa to ride your Hog with your three grandchildren clinging for dear life on the back. Did I mention that NONE of these Knievels wear helmets?

Anyway, so up the stairs thinking about these two occurrences I smelled garlic bread. The sweet salivating salvation of Italian food. This couldn't be? Is my host mom, the Queen of Instant Curry Tuesdays, making garlic bread? Oh my god!! Well, she wasn't, and I wonder now if I had just manufactured that olfactory sensation.

Disregarding imagined garlic bread, I must describe yet another weekend of absurdity:

I woke up on Saturday with the normal routine. I awoke to the vibrating of my cell phone and the cheery voice of one such Georgian, who will go by Kate, telling me it was morning; nearly the afternoon. My previous antics from the night before, which had left me too incapacitated to type or read, much less play guitar, rose inside from the depths of the dungeon and forced me to be curt on the phone with Kate. "What time is it? When should I meet you?" "10:45... 11:15" "ok. bye" Makeoli is yet another manifestation of the devil. We were being taken out to lunch by her host-sister and classmates. I refused the crustless egg and spam sandwich my mom had made nearly 4 hours before (I don't know why she cuts off the crust on these sandwiches), and I made my walk to the corner. "You're a champ, Alex."

Awkward, but endearing the lunch was and also the round of Patpingsu. Patpingsu is an amazing idea that needs to catch on back home. A bowl of shaved ice, topped with fruit, red-bean paste, rice-cake thingies, and frozen yogurt. But I have yet to find an establishment as delicious and mind-blowingly perfect as IceCool. I have found CoolHof! But they cater to an older crowd, those above the legal age.

The afternoon was spent with Gretchen, Lauryn and Sarah O. We attempted to finalize our pension plans for the 27 people that have summoned up the courage to fly down to Jeju for the weekend and have a costume party on the beach. Finding the pension was a little harder than we thought, but I tell you, Koreans are probably the nicest people I've ever met. I just walked into a restaurant leaving the girls to ask someone at the gas station across the street for directions. I ask in my best Korean if they know this place. They don't so I whip out the phone number for the place and they call. One minute later the old Agumma behind the counter is getting her husband (who is working in the restaurant) to take us in his car. Now, I want to say I learned my lesson about getting in cars with strangers through my experiences with Jehovah's Witnesses, but i just trotted out that door and said "Let's go!!"(in Korean of course). But as I yell to the girls at the gas station, they're yelling at me to get over there because the attendant called for a shuttle to pick us up for free and take us to the place. Well, I'll be damned, it seems you can just get any ride from any stranger in the country. I think I might try hitchhiking soon, I could save shitloads on taxis and buses.

I had no idea negotiating a two night stay at a pension in Korea would be so hard... but it was. Unfortunately, it wasn't really that hard, it was just frustrating to have to repeat what we all understood already over, and over, and over again. In fact, my neurotic and paranoid behavior came to a boil and I had to disengage for a moment as I was worried that all this talking would reverse the course of things and leave us homeless and hungry for the following weekend. Whatever. We got the rooms, and I call a bed as payment for my dutiful task.

Dinner was with the Jeong family, aka Rafiq's homestay. there was a guest though and who was it? My lusting lover. We don't communicate very well, but she just enjoys my voice. After dinner we broke into the Chinese gardens that overlook the waterfall near my house, sang some Korean songs that I only know about 1/5 of the words to and then bounced to an undisclosed location.
We wound up at our guest's studio. She's a drum teacher and has a large studio filled with traditional korean drums and gongs. I couldn't help but think of Turzo and how he would no doubt occupy himself for days in her place. After some Hanyeo lessons, drum patterns that were too complicated and advanced for me, some hulahooping, and some more Korean songs, we left to Rafiq's for a sleepover.

We all slept there as a means to make the morning commute to the Marathon easier---Oh! I guess I didn't mention that huh? Yeah, so Rafiq signed us up for a marathon. Turns out actually, that they call all running races in Korea "marathon". Either way, we ran a 10K in support for the Jeju firefighters. So, we all slept at his host-family's to get to the race on-time. But I seriously thought we were going to miss the start of it. First of all the only people at the apartment when we woke up were 4 and 6 years old and honestly the only thing they were concerned about were my "panties" and how they could pull them down and stick their finger up my butt. What a nice way to start the morning! When our ride finally showed up, and were off on the road, she asked if we had brought the map. I don't know what this lady is thinking, but why in holy hell would WE have the map?!?! To make us even more late we had to make a stop. This may be the most stereotypical thing that's happened to me in Korea, but we were late to the race because we had to drop off some Kimchi. I guess you have to know that one eats Kimchi with every meal, including breakfast, and you should realize that Koreans have their own sense of time too. What most people would consider late, is right on-time. I don't mean Spanish Time, or Stoner Time, or Josh Lipkowitz Time, or even Italian Time, but to many Koreans, if you say 9am... well of course you mean 9:30am. That just goes without saying.

We made it to the race in time. Actually, we had plenty of time. I suppose because the race was running late due to the dance team performance, drum line, a half cast of enlarged mascots representing The Village People and dancing to the YMCA, a starting line-up announcement of men in suits, an aerobics workout that was too jammin' and advanced for anyone who is not a masochistic Tae Bo enthusiast, and an oath taken by a couple of people, who on behalf of all contestants, swore to obey the rules.

The start of the race was marked by fireworks and cannons; Korea can be a little over-the-top sometimes. Anyway, the race was beautiful and I learned that I can not run continuously for 10K. In fact, I took almost twice as long as my dad runs a 10K. That's all I'll say about that, but do keep in mind that the "Orum Marathon" as it was called means "small mountain marathon". It was definitely a mountain that we ran up, and a single-track nonetheless. Whatever, you're thinking it and you're right, so I'll stop making excuses for being out of shape.


On the ride home, we stopped at a photo gallery. I really just wanted to go home and put my feet up, but for some reason, we just pulled off and checked it out. Whatever it's Korea, but do we need to drink coffee at every place we visit. I don't know what my fellow ETAs think about this, but I think if I accepted all the coffee that was offered to me each day, I might die of diabetic shock. It's not real coffee. It's basically a combination of Folgers and white sugar at something like a 1:4 ratio, respectively. Anyway, that coffee must have fried a couple of circuits in our driver's brain because she felt it was safe to take off her glasses and tell the passenger in the front to be her eyes. She said, "I can see cars, but not people or animals". When a plastic bag floated across the road she dropped a gear and asked what it was...

It's just Korean.

I need to get the grievances out of the way first:

1) Korea is supposedly the most wired country in the world. It's electronics are far superior and more accesible to the people, but apparently they lack a decent web-designer. If you're looking for a job in web-design, I suggest contacting the Pusan International Film Festival or Korean Airlines and create a webpage that functions, period.

2) Buses. Why are they so goddam on-time. Too on-time. In fact, sometimes I get to the bus-stop 5 minutes early and I am watching it cruise down the road, left there waiting for another 15 minutes when it'll be 3 minutes earlier than schedule. I guess my only other experience with buses was in Italy, and that's a whole new can of worms.

********************************************************************************

So it turns out that I CAN'T make it the entire year without paying my phone bill. Although we set it up for a monthly withdrawal from my bank account, somewhere the bureaucracy tripped up(wow. imagine that.) and they are threatening to shut off my service. They sent me a text message telling me to pay my bill, but I specifically gave them my bank account number(and opted to not receive bills) for the purpose of NOT paying and just playing the part of the victim when my money starts disappearing. I just think it's funny that they want me to pay a bill that never even came to me in the first place.

I've been busy trying to establish some travel plans for the winter. I'm basically spending Christmas with one of the greatest people on earth. She slids up into the Top 5 among greats like Rupert Murdoch, Adolf Hitler, Art Garfunkel, Ronald Reagan and Walt Disney... woops, sorry wrong list. Here ya go: Greats like John Cusack, George Washington Carver, Jon Stewart, Martin Luther King, and Matt Groening. That's right kiddos, I'm off to see Kate Sherwood. Plans aren't final yet, but looks like a meandering through Thailand/Malaysia with a half-man, half-salmon cohort... aka Dylan. After we part, I'm headed to Bali(this is an affirmative already) where I'll be swimming in the luxury I'm sure to never have if I keep spending money like this. Word. It feels so good to get plans in the finalizing stages.

Today one of my girls brought in a beat-up guitar and set it at the front of the class. I immediately knew what she was up to, but I'm not a mouse and I don't just grab the cheese and start nibbling. Anyway, I called the class to order and was hounded to play the guitar and sing to them. So I did. I am officially on my way to being a Rock Star in Korea. I know they are already spreading the word. And by my previous encounters with mild fame already on this island, I think I might qualify next month for the Megastar 'Way-Gook' Finals. *Way-Gook=Foreigner

*********************************************************************************

To Do List:

-Compile a complete list of Jehovah's Witness' numbers. They are too clever, but obviously can't take a hint.
-Buy a winter coat. Californians are unfamiliar with the term layering outside of the cake-making world.
-Make Halloween Costume. I shall be Sojuman. I can't tell you the details, it would seem culturally insensitive to someone outside the situation.
-Find out where that smell is coming from. The roof? The alley? The park?
-Buy a camera. It seems like everywhere I go these days, nature and chance are conspiring for great photos just to tease me.
-Steal that Huskie puppy down the street. **Shameless Plug: www.BreederRetreiver.com
-Make bumper sticker that reads: "Obama's Great in '08, but Obama's The Bomb in '12"
-Wash my feet.

[I have been doing a lesson on superheroes. I begin by having them name all the superheroes they know. I get a good mix of Korean, Japanese and American cartoons, so I tend to ask about the heroes I don't know and what they can do]

"Ok girls, so tell me, what kind of power does this superhero have"
"Many, many power!!"
"Ok, like what?"
"Uh, marge, choopaytah, and... and... PENIS!"

[Translation: Mars, Jupiter, and Venus. I'm not sure how those qualify as superpowers]

"Partners"... The equivalent of Nerds in Korea.














Good parenting practices dictate to allow children boundaries beyond the guard rail.













Platypus Woman... a common sight in Korea.

The problem I have with volunteers is that they have pure good intentions, but when it comes to getting things done, they would probably have trouble tying their shoes. Yes, the Busan Film Festival was great. We saw some fantastic films, but it was a day that began at 5-something A.M. and didn't end until 24 hours later.

I woke up Saturday morning on a Ferry that I had been pretty convinced was going to capsize in the middle of the night. Not only that, but I thought I had dreamt the fact that we took an 11 hour ride through the East Sea to Busan. The only proper thing to do was to have a crazy dance party to wake ourselves up while we distracted ourselves from the sound of Kate gagging in the bathroom from the ungodly smell that was the toilet.

On the whole, Korea is up much earlier than America, yet whatever they get up for they apparently don't need coffee or baked goods. I'll never understand why coffee shops and bakeries aren't open in the mornings here. I guess kimchi is all the kick these people need to start the day off right. Not me, I prefer a chocolate croissant and coffee imported from exploited Columbian peasants... it's so much better when you can smell the injustice.

The films we saw were: Dasepo Naughty Girl, Holly, Elementary Particles, and The Optimists.

I highly suggest checking all of them out. Each film was good, though Naughty Girl had to be appreciated as a self-mocking comic-based attempt at too much within too little time. Hands down, my favorite was Elementary Particles. It's a German film about two half-brothers and their love lives that direct outwards in completely different paths. It's really good. Find it and rent it.

After the our last movie, The Optimists(which was extremely funny and dark, so dark in fact that the Serbian director found subtle humor in the defrauding of dying people to cure their illnesses. All to sad to find funny, but I still laughed), we felt like checking into a motel and passing out, but our friends convinced Kate, Lauryn and I to drop our packs at their motel and go to a Rave on the beach.

The rave cost 25 bucks, but they served 2 dollar Guiness, had a couple of amazing DJs, and enough laser lighting to be a Star Wars set. I elbowed a midget in the head while dancing, but she ran away before I could apologize. I'd say it was a pretty cool scene, but I'm not sure it's appropriate to call it a "Rave". I'll have to check with the Oxford English Dictionary, but I'm almost positive a Rave is defined by "excessive lasers lights, rhythms, drugs and glowsticks."

This is the bus outside the entrance.













The inside scene.

If the New York Times is any indicator of what is mainstream news in America, which I sure as hell hope so, then you are well aware that North Korea tested a nuclear bomb. There is still debate about this I understand, and determining the type of test takes percise seismic evaluation and time, I suppose. But the facts I see are this:

1)No person/country in their right mind would fake a nuclear test with 6 tons of chemical explosives when the obvious result would be hard-lined response from 5 countries.

2)North Korea (NPRK) has been working on a nuclear program for over 30 years, and it's about time they produce something (I mean, what else do they do there? They sure as hell aren't occupied with keeping their Per Capita Income competitive in the world).

3)When you're a country like NPRK and you test a nuclear bomb, you're pretty much asking for a fight. It's like the delinquent runt of an outcast from elementary school who decides one day to whip a kickball near the heads of the bullies at recess. You know he's just trying to show that he's tough. Yet despite however many bruises he leaves with the first throws, he knows he'll be beaten like a rug by 3:20pm.

Well, as I write this, North Korea has said that "if the U.S. keeps pestering us and increases the pressure, we will regard it as a declaration of war and will take a series of physical corresponding measures."

So, now my mood has changed from curious to worried. I'm headed to Busan this weekend for the annual Busan International Film Festival. I hope that the long ass ferry ride and four film agenda on Saturday can rest my mind. Until the seemingly inevitible demise of this world, I have picnics and films and classes to teach. I was reading the final chapter in Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs and Klosterberg referenced a book called The Bible Code, which describes how the Torah can be analyzed like "a three dimensional crossword puzzle"(?) and that among many things, computer specialists have predicted with that the coming nuclear war will occur in 2006. I checked this morning... it's 2006. Not that I believe a guy who read a book whose author claims the Torah can be analyzed by computer specialists in 3D models to predict the future, but that's one fucking frightening coincidence for someone currently residing in Korea.

The trouble I see with Korea is the fact that every trusts one another.

Or maybe that's the trouble they see with foreigners. Whatever, my point is this: Here I am, I compassionate College graduate, with a 3.6 gpa, Fulbright Fellow, respected teacher, no prior criminal record, steady job holder since I was 14, raised in a loving environment, etc... and it seems like Korea was created to test my morality.

I'm serious. Why does anyone think that it's safe to leave their car or moped running double-parked on a crowded downtown street for MANY minutes?!!? If some moron did that in America, that fool would be minus four wheels, leather interior, and their collection of Judas Priest tapes. Could you imagine going into the local NYPD presinct and filling out the police report? The cops would tear it up, look the guy straight in the face, and tell him in all honesty that he deserved what he cooked on 2nd Ave.

My biggest conscience crises come from the delivery men who leave their open bed trucks unattended for long periods of time. It doesn't take a genius to learn the habits of these numbskulls and acquire yourself a weekly supply of beer and soju(cola if you desire as well). The inherent trust Koreans have for one another is amazing. If I were in the U.S. and I saw a Budweiser driver do that with an open air vehicle, I'd take what I could carry and justify my acquisitions by the circumstantial stupidity of both Anheiser-Busch and their lowly peon.

Now, what boggles my mind is the DISTRUST store owners have for people when they enter a store. I realize that this scenario may be that Korean owners are attempting great customer service, but when they become a physical nuissance to my browsing, I must conclude that they are watching over my shoulder. Example: I walked into Hi Mart yesterday to look at cameras since mine just broke. As soon as I walk through the doorway, I am awarded a puppy-like shadow. He follows me through the aisles until I find the Cameras. I then look at the cameras for a good ten minutes hoping that maybe he'll open up the cases for me, but no. I then turn to him and ask if they have the Olympus Stylus 1000, but he responds with a curt, "Anniyo". I continue to walk through the store just to browse and this guy is watching me closer than Death. I dodge right, left, right, and he's on me like white on rice. Fortunately, the phone rang at the desk and I was able to stuff my pockets with dvd players, laptops, and rice cookers and jet out of there. I don't think my shadow was keen to my tactics, until I laughed mockingly in the phone as I ran down the street.

Since some of you are probably wondering, I like the Type RISK drivers best. Yes, they have performed amazing feats on the road, and though I have soiled several pairs of shorts in taxi cabs, I am always prefer to be panic-stricken rather than pissed off and frustrated with nancy-drivers. Bus drivers are Type RISK as well.

So I'm also glad there isn't malaria in this country, because if there were, I'd be dead. I've either been bitten all over my body by mosquitoes or I am breaking out in a rash. The little mosquito repeller my host mom gave me is about as useful as a 'coke and mentos' experiment (youtube.com) is to NASA trouble-shooting. All it did was spill chemicals on my floor and give me a migraine. In fact, the mosquito problem has only worsened since that day I plugged it in the wall.

I tried to find a pottery studio today, but somehow all my communication of saying that "I do pottery" and "I want to learn more" and "where can I do pottery?" and "look at these pictures of my pottery" did not get across to my host mom. Instead she took me to a traditional ceramics yard and I got roped into correcting the English on their brochure. But my mom bought me some pieces and I met my first real friend. I say real because to date all my friends have either been a)forced relationships with boring koreans b)white mormons from the states or c) Jehovah's witnesses who want to spill my blood.

Speaking of which, they came by my residence the other day while I was flying back from Gyeongju. I had to tell my family that if they ever come by again to tell them that I am not here. I then had to explain that I have moral qualms with their lifestyle and therefore can not be friends with them. It was awkward being told by my host mother, "Do not give your number to anybody, especially koreans." But I broke that rule today with my new friend. His name is Mr. Chong. He's a retired professor of English Language at a small University in Seoul. He likes hiking, biking, and sucking out the marrow of life(I assume).

Damn, this entry got long. It was supposed to be an addendum to the last one, and a statement about how my mosquito killing cunning is adapting to my new environment and prey.

After 3 months of research, I have decided to publish my findings... right here on the 'Information Superhighway' (I hope someone has punched Al Gore in the face for coining such a stupid phrase).

I decided to go public with the research the night I was hit by a car. See I was standing on the sidewalk, at the crosswalk, looking at the oncoming traffic to my left, when a car that was idling in the crosswalk and halfway on the sidewalk backed into me from the opposite direction I was looking. After I beat that car senseless and left the driver wondering if I was belligerently drunk(I was not at all), it dawned on me that the driver represented the 3rd type of drivers in the ROK. Here are the results of my research:

There are three types of drivers in South Korea.

Type RISK are drivers that do not follow the rules of the road, nor proper etiquette. They are largely represented by taxi drivers, but also include those who think it's better to be on the offensive(like my dad). A typical RISK driver will run red lights, cut off buses, and narrowly hit pedestrians.

Type FRET are drivers that worry about RISK drivers. They drive extra cautiously to a point where they also endanger lives like RISK drivers. I prefer to call these drivers sissies or nancies. They are the ones that will brake sporadically because they are going to fast(in their mind), but really they are being passed by and honked at by cars from all sides. Their characteristics often include obliviousness to signs, right-of-ways, and Newton's Laws of Motion.

Type DUMB are the by-products of one of these two drivers, it depends on personal history. These drivers are essentially deaf, dumb, and blind. They are the ones that stop in the middle of the street with a bus barreling down at them from behind. They are prone to driving habits like asking for directions at greenlights, driving on the sidewalk, and nearly all habits characteristic of both RISK and FRET drivers. DUMB drivers are probably the worst kind, and they have now made my shit list by busting me from behind in the knees.