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.