I've been meaning to rant about something for a while, and today's lunch sparked it again for me. Here's my beef:

Korean/American trade barriers have recently been knocked down all thanks to the "buy local" exterminator--The FTA. Though I disagree with the FTA out of respect to small time farmers, I like to see globalization within developed countries. What?!? I'm a consumerist, Nihilist, and a sadistic imperialist that wants to have his damn coffee and drink it too (one of those labels is true, can you guess?). Anyway, my point is that for a while in Korea, there was all this tension about US imported beef because they had found a piece of bone during a customs X-ray inspection. And all this hub-bub at the time sort of pissed me off. *Please disregard the fact that bone fragments in US Beef are feared to spread Mad Cow Disease to uninfected countries so we may maintain the unequivocal humor of blind blog aggression.


You see, anyone that has lived in Korea understands why this would be aggravating. Today I had what I hope will be my last meal of something I lovingly like to call, Bone Fragment Stew. Yes, it's a stew that features pieces of bone, some pork, vegetables and an oily broth that hides the throat-tearing particles by allowing them to easily cling to the ridges of the cabbage leaves.

So what Korea? It's ok for you to deny the importation of thousands of pounds of American Beef due to one bone fragment, but you are allowed to put a pig in a blender, stir in some veggies and call it a delicious stew? That's hypocrisy and I hope you know how easy it is to choke on hypocrisy, especially when it's chopped up really small and hidden among an oily sauce.

Time's really widdling down here, like down to a toothpick size piece of time. However, I'm in this state of anticipation instead of sorrow. People here ask me, "Is there anything you want to do before you leave?" And my answer is usually, "Pack."

It's not that I've had a terrible time here, it's that I can't wait for some old favorites. You know, the simple things: Avocados, English, Burritos, HBO, Coffee, Basketball, Micro-Brews, Driving, and Unemployment... just to name a few. Of course, I'm dying to get back to see my new nephew, and older niece, the rest of The Fam, and maybe a homie or two. But I'll miss Korea--when I'm back home.

Oh, and I bought a plane ticket to New Zealand with a stop off in Fiji for the Fall. I guess this will turn into It's Just a Kiwi.

A couple days ago I watched a cop run away from a drunk man. That's pretty much the story, but it gets better with the facts.

I step outside my gym around 6pm ready to stuff my face full of food like a masochistic bulimic at an all you can eat buffet (yeah? does that simile make you cringe or smile?). To my expectation, I see a belligerently drunk man in the street yelling at god knows what. Then I notice the police, who (as usual) are doing nothing about anything. But one of the authorities calls over to the man and I notice something in his hand. He reaches out to the man as they approach one another and hands him a half-full soju bottle. Now I'm thinking, why would you hand this drunkard more alcohol? I assume, they confiscated it, then realised they didn't want it and decided to be kind and give it back to him so he'd shut up. But the man grabs what belongs to him from the officer and proceeds to bull charge the other officer. What does the policeman do? Well what any upstanding, respectful, and fearless order enforcing official would do... run away. The drunk man continues to make a public spectacle of the situation and humiliate these policemen in front of a crowd. The man starts calling them 'fuckers' in Korean and what I can only assume were a onslaught of vulgarities from his half-slurred speech. The police take cover in their car, and when they decide the situation is too hairy, they leave. All the while they're driving off, the man is yelling and telling the witnesses how big of pushovers the cops are in Korea. He came up to me and started speaking to me, but all I could understand was that he thought the cops were 'fuckers'. I got this idea in my head though, obviously this drunk man has asserted his reign over the city by sending the cops cowering like dogs between their tails. If I just land a right cross on this man's jaw, sending him to the pavement, then I shall become the mayor of Seogwipo and have the townspeople at my beckon. Yes, I must assassinate the drunkard and all authority shall be mine.

My co-teacher has this tradition every friday now. I ask her how she is and she responds, "TGIF". Now, I think it's great and all that she knows how to use this acronym (it would not surprise me if a Korean used it on a Tuesday), but I hate people say that, especially with regularity. People that say "TGIF" are probably the same people that have season passes to amusement parks and call 'soda' by the sadly cute attempt of 'sody pop'.

My host mom invited me out to see her play in a volleyball game. Lauryn decided to come along and see the spectacle of ajuma sports. Turns out, the game was actually a high school reunion and was more of a spectacle than one could possibly imagine. Don't worry, it included karaoke. We got hounded to eat dinner with them, despite our explaining that we had a birthday dinner to go to, and eventually we caved. At dinner I made an awkward admittance at Lauryn being my girlfriend and immediately the women were inviting themselves to the wedding which was complete news to us. In Korea, the rule is to roll with it, it's too bad they think her name is Helen.

I got some Hambeok being tailored for me as a present from my school. I tried to steer clear of the heinous color scheme of hot pink and blue, but I had to settle with lavender. At least I got to choose the color. My host dad took me shopping for a teapot, told me which one to buy (against my will), and then bought it for me. When he pulled out the bills I decided he had chosen the best one. I'm starting to get the feeling my host family sleeps on a pile of money and not a yo.

I finished my diving course, and though I again have some ear trouble, it's less than the first time. I think I've seen the doctor more times than I've seen my dive instructor. Anyway, diving's pretty rad when you're not bleeding from the ear.

Online scrabble has sort of taken over my life. If you're looking for a game, just email me. I'm always down, just as long as you don't put down the word 'upo', I don't care if scrabble thinks it's a word. Upo means nothing. It is merely and acronym which is illegal in Scrabble and therefore not a valid word. I want my fucking turn back scrabulous.com .

Forgive me for being behind the times here, but I've been in Korea and have not had first hand experience until now. But here's my beef:

What the hell is the point of restricting liquids on airplanes? I mean, why is my unopened bottle of water, or my orange juice I JUST bought such a big deal? And the absurdity of forcing someone to drink the whole thing in front of security is just going to perpetuate bad drinking habits for youth. Now I tell you, that water is a threat, I mean, for all they know, I could have bottle my own tap water. Holy Shit! Tackle that man! He's got tap-water! And it's not just liquids that make me think this neo-fascist Orwellian tracked world is far too ludicrous with it's rules. Forceful bagging of creams, pastes, and other liquids seemingly gives the average being assurance that security measures have been taken... that is until they realize the ease of opening Ziploc baggies! I mean, I'm not going to give any weirdos out there ideas about how to destroy an aircraft, but common sense tells us nowadays that right through the front door is pretty easy... uh, just remember to bag it. And you know, I wish I had been the first to think of it, but if we start banning liquids on planes, does that mean humans are next? After all, we are 70-80% water and I don't think they make zip locks big enough to hold an average sized human.

I consider this blog my baby, not the same type of baby I consider my guitar, ceramics, or for that matter... actual baby (please no, please no, please no). But lately I've been allowing my baby to go malnourished with garbage you can scroll down to find, and words are like food. And, if the metaphor works as well the both ways like a hammer does as glue, then I should have no problem regurgitating my excessive feast of meat onto the screen to form what I like to call: Jibber-Jabber*

*copyright pending A-team settlement

So I got all spiffed out today for an open class. I was told that the board of education would be observing my class to certify that I spoke English, or something similar probably. I was a little annoyed because I was told only a few days before and I appreciate the maturity of anxiousness. Anyway, I was all set to do a boring lesson from the textbook and go balls-out and have the gumption to give them a word search and call it learning (let's be honest, my kids would rather have "self-study time" than do my activities, though I hear my lessons are a hit at other schools they've been implemented), but they love word searches and I'm a crowd-pleaser.

Well, I'm 45 minutes into my class and here I am, wearing a tie for no reason, when finally one guy walks in and watches me work for literally 2 minutes, takes a note in his book, and bounces out into the hall again. My next class is one step less and nobody walks in on me, and as I walk to lunch with my co-teacher she proceeds to tell me that they were only observing social studies and math today. So basically, I panicked all weekend for nothing.

But the real fun was at home. I sat my butt down and decided to chill out and watch whatever the hell is English on TV. I must have been a saint in another lifetime because God came down, forgave my sins and my ancestors before me, and graced me with the greatest movie of all time: Pearl Harbor (sarcasm intended). Now, this takes a lot of pride to say, and ruins my sense of dignity, but I watched the whole fucking movie. Somewhere around the time I started thinking more about Dan Ackroid and how far he's come from SNL, than the movie, I decided to get up and pack for my trip to Taiwan.

But as I started packing, my host dad walks in and tells me in Korean to come with him to eat dinner. I looked at him in a way that if he understood the cultural phenomena of Early Bird Specials, he would have immediately told me, "No, I am NOT 70 years old." Anyway, I told him in Korean that I wasn't hungry. He said something like, "when will you be hungry?" I said, "2 hours" He said, "what?" I said under my breath, "Jesus fucking Christ." I said, "7pm I will eat. You eat now." He said, "where are you going?" I said, "uh, uh, uh, I go to the park." He said, "klsfl ksjfk, sdlkjeivnwo dnmkie. 7pm sldkfkswg home skhfs eat." I said, "OK."

Now I didn't actually want to go to the park, but I figured since I lied I might as well go to the park and at least try and work up an appetite while he watched the credits for Pearl Harbor. At the park, I fell victim to the local neighborhood tyrants. They go by names that sound like normal Korean names, but probably mean things like, Trike Stealer, Baby Kicks-a-lot, and You-may-look-young-but-you-will-always-be-an-old-man-to-me Kim. They cornered me on the 'ajuma side rocker' (I have no idea what it's called or how to describe it), and I took it as an attempt to practice my Korean. One little girl got all sassy with me and started kicking me when I wasn't speaking to her. I then impressed them with my jump-roping skills and proceeded to teach the kid that kept calling me ''old man'' the names of animals on my "Safari Wo[r]ld" shirt. All the while, the best English speaker of them all kept telling the little boy to call me "teacher", and me to pull up my pants.

Eventually, the sassy girl fell and hurt herself on the equipment and I took that as my cue to get out of there, after making sure she was ok of course. But in typical fashion, when I asked her where her mother and father were, her friend said they were at home. Only in Korea will you find 5-7 year olds at the park by themselves at dusk. Or, if you want the opposite end of the childcare spectrum, a father holding his baby girl in his arm while he drives through disorderly streets.

Anyway, I came back home and the pops took me out to galbi. Though I wasn't hungry, I ate as much as possible. But when the grill showed signs of paltriness, my host-dad ordered another round of meat. I felt so sick I wanted to yak, but so goes the feeling in Korea. and though conversation with the men in my home is always sparse, I had some amusement during the meal. Aside from making faces at the children across the room while trying to avoid the parents seeing me do it, there was the unpredictable humor of the waitress who could not control the volume of her voice. I didn't know if she had a hearing problem, or what, but I took no discomfort in laughing at her.

But it was when I got home that I decided to feed my blog, and it was sparked by me trying on my two pairs of sunglasses while packing. Now, I'm partial to just straight black frames, very rectangular, and reminiscent of The Blues Brothers in a jazzed up sort of way. However, some people like to claim that I remind them of circa 1994, sunglasses included. Well, I guess I just thought to myself finally, "you know, 1994 wasn't so bad." Not that I can remember a lot from then or anytime pre-Bush, but think about the times man. The Berlin Wall was still being kicked around as people ransacked the western side for all it's goodies, neon bracelets were being sold like hot-cakes at garage sales, and Full House was warming the hearts of so many soon-to-be-apathetic/all-too-nostalgic youth. Good times. I bet I can still find some plaid to rock this summer.

1) To those of you who graduated this last week--Congratulations.
2) My ears are getting better, as expected, but still can't dive for a couple weeks. I gotta give it another go.
3) Today was a good day. This weekend was a good day. I love the fact that Koreans don't go to the beach until July, because then us foreigners get it all to ourselves.
4) I'm going to Taiwan... more to come.

Let's imagine for a minute that you have found the greatest tasting food ever to grace the planet. It literally embodies the feeling of an orgasm in your mouth. When people describe it they become speechless, and use awe-infused words. It's so great that people dedicate their lives to it much like the way a crack-addict, pool-junkie, or surfer do. But there is one caveat to the food. It's intangible. You cannot stab it with a fork, grasp it with chopsticks, scoop it with a spoon or even hold it with your hands once you open it's container. Instead, one must attempt a telekinetic type maneuver to navigate the desirable and delectable food onto the taste buds. It's a tricky process that few learn to do, but many claim that once you've learned, you will never eat anything else again. But to further complicate the process of attaining this life-altering food, you must dislocate your jaw bone. The method for unhooking your jaw is not painful, though it can be uncomfortable, however, it is not nearly as uncomfortable as eating said orgasm without proper methods. Because, you see, when you do not dislocate your jaw for eating this food, a treatable, but malign, tumor grows inside your skull.

What the hell am I talking about? Well, now that you understand this quirky dilemma, you may understand my state of being. I am currently treating this "tumor".

Basically, I learned to scuba dive this past week and it was amazing. Life under the sea is indescribable and euphoric. It's like something out of a dream world and makes you feel like you've found the most exhilarating drug around. But to access this world you must have the skills of scuba, and to use these skills, you must be able to equalise your ears. My problem is that even though I equalized, and took my time, somehow I didn't do it correctly, or timely, and the "tumor" that is growing in my head is actually some bleeding inside my middle ears. I am able to get it treated--don't worry--but currently I have some severe itching happening inside my ears, muffled hearing, and the feeling of a foreign object in my right ear. I think I can say that I have had better days. What's worst about this whole thing is that a) I can't dive and b) I can't drink my sorrows (of not being able to dive) away. I'd rather endure the annoyance of leeches again than be housebound for bleeding ears.

Current Life Awesomeness Level (1-10): 2

Mosquito Update:

I am killing enough mosquitoes each night to be considered genocide by Amnesty International. Whatever, they deserve it... but I'd hate to be told that that's how Hitler started... with mosquitoes.

The word for 'mosquito' in Korean is 모 기 (Mogi, for those of you without Korean character knowledge). The Mosquito is known all over the world, and I dare say the most despised insect alive. Loving the mosquito would be like loving a politician; they don't love you back and in the end they just want to screw you for their benefit.

I used to not care about mosquitoes because they were just this nuisance at dusk near watery places. But now, oh now... I am on a mission from god to paint the walls with their blood, literally. What I don't understand is how they get inside the house in such numbers.
I think it's fair to assume that for every mosquito one kills, at least 5 more are in hiding. So last night when I killed 12 while sitting in the living room gave me some alarm. There was need for alarm too. I woke up at least 6 times last night to kill mosquitoes and with each awakening I slaughtered anywhere between 3-6 pests. Now I sleep in a closed room, and it just seems like if one is feeding on a sleeping body the others will emerge, but they suck in shifts apparently. How the hell could there be no mosquitoes one night in my room, and then a congregation of blood-thirsty inhumane water-borne devil incarnates? I want my sleep back.

This past weekend was the Jeju International Ultimate Frisbee Tournament. It was my first tournament and obviously not my last. I loved it. It's my kind of people. And you know, for 40 bucks, you get a lot of stuff: Frisbee, T-shirt, all meals paid, all beer paid, two nights at a hotel, and enough water to fill a pool.

The first day we were seeded 13th and had to play 4 games all in our own division. Never having lost on Saturday and being the top of the 2nd division bracket, we got a chance to move up to the higher bracket on Sunday by playing the 12th seed. After winning that game, we had to play the 8th seed. They were pretty good, so lost and then played the 9th seed. But you see, in Frisbee, at the end of the day, when all places are more or less settled, and nobody really cares about the difference between 9th and 10th place... people like to have some fun. So, our game against Daejon got a little rambunctious. We started making up rules, playing points on our hands and knees, linking arms with our defenders, and playing barefoot to give our feet some sunshine for the first time in a while. Good Times were had.

Anyway, Ultimate Frisbee is the ultimate all-weekend party and sun-soaking mission.

Oh, and by the way, I'm not lying when I tell you that there is a Frisbee kid from Seoul who legally changed his name to Luscious N. Delicious. Seriously.

Well, I'll admit it. I seem to have made a mistake. Not a grave, life threatening, mistake, but one a little more worrisome than my last move in Internet scrabble (PIN for 10 points was mere desperation). Yet it is a mistake that would just be a little sketchy if it were in America.

You see, I took an idea from some other ESL teachers and created a Gmail account just for my students to practice English since they're so goddamn shy they might as well be mute. But after more than 6 weeks with the account, I have received emails from 2 different people. One is my favorite and arguably best student from last year, the other is a girl formerly known as "Chocoholic".

Chocoholic writes me an average of 3 times a day. She frequently asks me why I only write her once a day, or as she is quoted nearly 4 weeks ago, "I write 26 times you. You only 8." I have been asked for my picture (apparently for a friend), and when I didn't send her one, I thought her broken English would reach out of cyberspace and choke me. She also asked me to give her a nickname. I decided that since she liked chocolate so much I would call her Hershey. She got mad because she thought that was a boy's name, but when I informed her that it was a last name, it took her minutes to change her screen name to "Jean Hershey". And most recently I have been asked to go on a picnic with her. Now, since this is my first experience with a 'Teacher Crush', I am not sure what to do, and when to do it. All I know is that I watch my words carefully for fear that some day the Board of Education will accuse me of soliciting a student via email. That's just the kind of note I need to end on for my Fulbright.

Oh, did I mention she skips lunch to speak with me for an hour in my office? At least her English will be up there, along with her hopes.

My blog feels like the story of The Tortoise and the Hare. My writing was the hare and it started off strong, but now that I got all the sprints and jabs out, it's slowly tiring and failing to win the race. Actually, this is the worst analogy in the world, but you see my point? I can't even make an analogy for the fact that my frequency and humor in my writing has dropped off like, uh, uh, dammit.

Well, I suppose life is continuing without any hardships. My days are filled with the usual teaching, reading, Internet TV, and Frisbee. I've had the last few days off while my students are on a trip to the mainland, some of them for the first time. I can't read the news anymore because it's too aggravating. I can only watch The Daily Show online and just make light of the facts.

Were you aware that Alberto Gonzales claimed he could not recall the firing deliberations 71 times in the Senate hearings? Yet, he also claims to recall making the decision, but can't remember when, where, or how? The man looked like such an idiot out there, but of course it takes one to know one, and that's why Bush has more confidence in him after the hearings.

Anyway, who the hell cares? I was reading Krakatoa recently and was more than 150 pages into it, when I realized that I live on a volcanic island just like Krakatoa. It's really not the kind of thing you want to think about when you're going to sleep.

My host brother used english words for maybe the 2nd time I've been here since August. He said, "alexuh, computaw, uh?" Which in remedial konglish means, "Alex, would you like to use the computer or shall I turn it off?" The kid's 13-14 years old and can't even look me in the eye when I enter the room. Did I also mention that he won't eat breakfast if I'm already sitting at the table? He just sort of peeks in walks back to his room and sits on his bed until I walk by to my room, at which point he gets up and goes to the kitchen. It's barely humorous anymore, now it just makes me feel sorry for him.

Well, this weekend is the Jeju Ultimate Frisbee Tournament. We have three teams from the island entered out of 24 teams total. We probably won't win, but we are guaranteed to play at least 6 games. The teams come from all over Asia. I believe there are 10 countries representing this year, so it should be a lot of fun.

Well, I feel like I fulfilled my quota of words for the month. I'll write when something extraordinary happens to me.

Well my friends, it's time for some bogus scribblings. I can't think of anything to write, but it's been a while and I feel it's time to let you in on the happenings of our beloved hero. That reminds me of something interesting. In Korea, there are certain locations that are referred to as "our _____" such as: school or house. It provides this sense of community and shared belonging that I think is wonderful, but then again, what happens when you move into your girlfriend's house and she decides to kick you out? Is it then her house in that argument? Or does she tell the boyfriend to 'get out of our house'? That just seems like the semantics would be confusing.

Anyway, April showers are in effect these days and it's been annoying to put trust in a online weather report via www.weather.com, actually, it's been hilarious. For example, last week I'm looking out my window and it's raining. I think to myself, well, I hope it doesn't rain this weekend for Ultimate practice. So I go online and type in my little town to see that the current conditions are cloudy. The day before it had given a 10% chance of rain. I'll admit, 10% is still a chance of 'precipitation', but the amount of rain falling from the sky was insane. I'm just saying, forecasts are one thing to get wrong, but CURRENT CONDITIONS?!?!?

Well, seriously, not much is happening in my world. I've seen some bad movies recently and then some worse ones, oh except for 23. That was one of the coolest movies I'd seen in a while, and it was on a 4x4 window on my PC from a bootleg copy where the camera wouldn't stay focused, but it added to the movie probably. Also, if you know of any job openings in The San Francisco Bay Area starting in July, send some love my way.

My favorite rabbit, not quite like Hunter though, but still cool.

The ring around the sun.

This old man.

I've been reflecting a lot upon my time here in Korea. The undeniable fact that I will be returning to The States in less than 90 days is mind-boggling. I mean, in days of yore I would have to start the journey now to set foot back on good ol' jingoist soil by July 4th (yes, I planned accordingly to celebrate my return to the US with the most patriotic day of the year). Anyway, the incessant harking by friends about this or that has made me wonder: What have I gained by being here? Now, I don't mean about language (in)abilities, practice teaching, or massive amounts of crap I deem worthy of lugging back with me. I ask this question about myself as a person. The answer sits in front of me all day long. It's as though I can see it hovering, taunting me to mouth its name, but all that comes out is my usual sputtering and subsequent drooling at the remembrance of candy inside my top drawer of my office desk. I am not going to reveal the long list of personal epiphanies that I have reached here, or even a simple answer to the above question, but I will tell you this:

I am fully proud of my year here. Yes, I have regrets about things that I failed to do or do completely, but I can honestly say that I took great advantage of my opportunities. Whether I will return is an entirely new can of worms that I would like to consider in the future.

There are things that I cannot even fathom have changed in my life back home. Sometimes it's the little things that I forget will be a part of my life again. Just the other day it dawned on me that I will soon be able to read the labels on food packages and know what's in it, if it will kill me via sodium, and how little a portion they expect you to eat(3 Oreos is never enough). I am truly excited to return, but know that once back home, I will miss the little things in Korea.

I love not tipping, I love yelling "over here" at waitresses, and I love being considered a criminal because I'm foreign(I know you're watching my every move lady, and you're right to do so. I WILL steal from you if you take your eyes off me!). I will miss eating with chopsticks(present skills: lethal), and eating from community dishes on the table. I will miss the 70 year old drunk men in the park screaming at each other because that's just how Korean men talk. I will miss DVD Bangs, drinking beer ANYWHERE you want, and hearing whispered voices saying, "foreigner" behind my back in Korean, only to turn around and respond by saying, "Yeeees. I'm from America. Where are you from?" which usually scares the pants off anyone under 4 feet tall. I will miss blatant trademark/copyright infringement, food so hot you might as well snort Tabasco, and effeminate boyfriends forced to wear "couples' tees".

But there is one thing I will not miss: Dried Cuddlefish.

Korean Conversation Killer

"I'm Mr. Kang. You Alex?"
"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kang."
"Ok."
[awkward silence]
"I... sex."
"Hehe, ok."
"Yes, I do sex."
"Hahaha, alright alright... good for you. Hehe. With whom?"
"You."
"Oh..."
[even more awkward silence]
"We friendship?"
"Umm."
[touches me, then himself]
"Good, climb 'oreum', friendship, yes."
[deliberate silence and forced distraction]

Sometimes I struggle to describe Korea when people from The States ask me. "What's Korea like?!?" is harder to answer than you think. I prefer the standard response of general exclamatory praise or overused and underspecified words like, "Crazy". I think the most appropriate recently has dubbed Korea as "The Land of Dualities" (L. McCarthy, 2007), but I've decided that this article sums up the entire Korean people, country, and culture.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fan_death

The amount of lies I will believe... it's not quite like the ignorance of the American people, but it's a little more than gullible. It might just be denial. I mean, why would my girlfriend lie to me. Why would she create lie after lie of absurdities. Why would her first lie be in regards to a family emergency? I received a frantic phone call at 1am asking for my support immediately after Lauryn would make a phone home about her mother's failing health. I could not fall asleep. I just lay there with anxiety for over an hour. Then the next day when I arrived at the coffee shop for comfort during the phone call about to take place I was told yet another lie. Her father had phoned to inform her that calling would only upset her mother and she really just needed some rest. As I sat down and ordered a cup of coffee, I noticed the extremely large bag that Lauryn carried down from The Si (read: she). I proceeded to believe yet another lie. Oh I get it, that's some teaching materials from the foreign foods mart, she's also doing the sensory lesson? That's really cool. Jalapenos? Wow, those kids are gonna be madder than mine that ate 99% cacao. Well, I was then asked if I wanted to go on an adventure. I asked no questions but refused the damn blindfold informing her that I already look like a goon and a blindfold will just make me a spectacle. I mean, c'mon, like I wouldn't feel you guiding me onto a bus? And anyway, I know this city so well that I could (did) call out landmarks as we passed them on the bus. On the bus I insisted that she not be mad about the blindfold and promised to keep my eyes closed. An hour and a half later we arrived at what the driver informed my blind self was "ilchulbong". Well, I know where we're going now, so tell me, why am I closing my eyes? We get off the bus, still promising not to look because of "this thing I found out about on Tues that I thought you'd love." I get blindfolded at this point and am asked to walk. Now it's not that I don't trust Lauryn, it's just that I don't trust her to guide a blind person. Once the scarf was wrapped around my skull, she said, "let's go." Unfortunately, she didn't understand the concept and left me there tapping my foot in hopes that she'd grab my arm and lead the way in which we'd go. Within seconds of her returning to guide me, she ran me into a pole. Finally, we get on a ferry and head to Udo. She didn't have to lie about that; I know a boat when I'm on it... oh, and also when it blares it's air horn. The lies only proceeded to grow as I exited the ferry though, this time with minor injury from the low doorways that somebody failed to mention. As we disembarked I kept asking when I could take off the scarf. Then I heard it. I heard the most awful noise to grace my ears in Korea:

"What the hell is that noise?!? Is that a person?"
"Yes."
"Is that what we came to see?"
"Maybe."

I was parked on a bench only to have the harbor of Udo revealed to my sore eyes. Why is it that closing your eyes hurts more than having them open? Anyway, the sound that pained me came from an elderly woman who sat across the road on a bench. The lies continued:

"Is that seriously what we came to see?"
"Yeah, that's the whimpering woman of Udo."
"What?"
"You haven't heard about this?"
"Why would I have heard about this?"
"Oh my god, this woman is incredible. She walks around the island singing and moaning like she is now, and is supposedly a good luck charm that Jeju people search out when they visit Udo. She just whimpers/sings like that, and if you ask her the history of Jeju she'll tell you the story of the Hallabong and ancient folklore like that."
"So you're telling me that you blindfolded me, dragged me out an hour and a half by bus to a place I knew I was going this entire time, in order for me to see an old whimpering woman?"
"Yes, well no. We are a little early, but I learned about the Udo Pride Parade that happens every Friday. They have a cow and horse parade every Friday."
"Every Friday?"
"Yeah."

About this time, some profanity and annoyance started emerging from my mouth. But I was quickly quieted with accusations that I was being insensitive to the dying Udo culture. I was pissed, though I felt sorry for not appreciating a nice gesture from someone who's mother might be dying as we speak. I called it lame and said I was going to buy a soda. As I'm paying for my Pepsi, the guy points out the window to what I assumed was the beginning of the parade. I turn around to see in the doorway 5 of my friends running in singing Happy Birthday video taping my surprise. Needless to say, it was worth the lies, worth the bus ride, and worth the piss-poor trust walking skills of someone that I used to have complete faith in.

Now I don't know what's worse: The fact that I believed such absurd lies or that in Korea these things probably exist and therefore believing that I was going to see a cow parade did not seem out of the ordinary for my life in Korea. I mean, I've seen everything else, why not a Cow Parade?

The Sunny Heater (SH-1101GR) is a cohabitant of my office. Actually, I am merely a tenant in his 4th floor domain. He owns my office like any landlord. In his case, he would more appropriately be considered a renegade turf combatant, willing to kill, maim or poison for respect. I refer to the Sunny Heater as a 'he' because only a man could be so sadistic, cruel, and dangerous. I prefer not to taint the beautiful image of women and reserve the gender qualities of man for this sonofabitch that tried to kill me for good this morning.

Normally when I feel cold I tough it out in my office and pray that my body heat will overcome the generous amount of cold airspace in the room. I have taken to this practice more often than not because of the Sunny Heater. You see, when I turn him on, he likes to idle, click, then spit gas for a lengthy period of time. I have to open my window and door to create a wind-tunnel in order to send the visible miasma of flammable gas outside the window. This tactic has never been sound, but it allows me enough oxygen to breathe for the rest of the morning. I also can never leave the Sunny Heater on for more than an hour or else he attempts the 'slow poison death' method on me. Many other foreign teachers claim their space heater gives them headaches, foolishness. You must run people, run.

I arrived this morning and went about my rituals as usual. I turned on my computer, plugged in the water-maker, and changed into my slippers. I needed to add some water to the electric boiler, so I grabbed a water bottle and headed for the door. But I decided it was too cold this morning and I opened the window, clicked the switch on my nemesis and headed out into the hall. I returned from the water cooler to find the Sunny Heater spewing out gas and refusing to ignite. The room smelled terrible, and I figured that today was his retirement, so I went to go turn him off. I reached down to stop the ignition clicking when BOOM! The area surrounding that evil machine burst into a fireball. I checked my eyebrows, counted my toes, and watched as the fireball slowly simmered into the flame that "heats" this office on occasion.

I tamed the beast of a machine eventually and have retired him to the corner for good. I will suffer the pain of harsh winters to save myself from this murderous mechanized malefactor. No matter how safe I find Korea to be, it always seems that the most dangerous place lies within these walls of academic pursuit.

I hate you Sunny Heater. I hate you.

This weekend my host-mother made me breakfast like always. I arrived at the table groggy and hungry only to find the usual. Now, most of us in Korea would be ecstatic to eat peanut butter and jelly every morning instead of the dreaded fish stew. Well, let me tell you folks, and I never thought I'd say this, but I am sick and tired of PB&J. Anyway, I sat down at the table to see the same set up every morning that's ingrained in my memory. A plate of lightly toasted bread, faintly smelling of cuddle fish, the two jars of 'yin and yang' to the left with a spoon next to them, and a glass of milk towering above it all. Well, as I sat there stuffing large amounts of bread and peanut butter down my throat my host-mother just stared at me with a solemn expression and scouring eyes at the table. Reminiscent of the Aaron Burr Got Milk commercial, I thought I'd said something intelligent, maybe even arrogantly witty, but since my Korean is barely decipherable without a chunk of esophagus clogging goo, I doubt she understood my query of "what?". Instead she left the room only to return 5 minutes later with my host-sister who said, "Alexuh, don't eat peanut buttah. Food. Food po--" As she attempted to pronounce the last word she showed me her electronic dictionary which said, "Food Poisoning". All the while my host-mom had left the room, I had scarfed down the rest of my all-American breakfast, including the milk to wash it down. I sat there scared and shocked. Then I was angry, for why... WHY?!?! Why would my host-mother watch me eat the rest of that sandwich, but wait... WHY?!?! Why would she even put it out on the table with a spoon next to it inviting me to indulge in a little recalled peanut butter from America. As my sister and I stared at each other wondering when I would croak and die, my host-mother casually grabbed the jar, opened it up, and sniffed it. She said something to me, but I understood only a little. I gathered that on the news last night had been a warning about all peanut butter products imported from the U.S., and that I should not eat it anymore. Thanks, lady. Thanks for rushing to my aid by putting it on the table and allowing me to serve up a healthy serving of a George Washington Carver orgasm.

Let me ask you something. If you knew a food product had been recalled for possible contamination, would you put the jar back into the fridge? Because I just looked in there and it's on the second shelf, waiting for my memory lapse to arrive so she can poison me.

Jeju United is our local soccer team and they suck. I've yet to pay for a ticket to their games because if people had to pay, they would lose fans. This is especially sad when it costs 10 (or less) to see them play. Yesterday was the season opener for the team and the stadium was half full at best. The final score for their loss was 2-1, but really it should have been a tie. The first goal was scored about 60 minutes into the game when a Jeju United defender attempted to head a lofted centering kick out of bounds, but misdirected it into the goal. I don't understand why the other team celebrated someone else's goal, but I guess it takes skill to make some moron header an 'own goal'.

All the home games are played in the Seogwipo World Cup Stadium. I found out yesterday that it used to have an upper-deck during the 2002 World Cup, but since then, they have removed the extra seating (probably in hopes to make it look more full). What's even more sad about the history of the stadium is that all the matches scheduled for the only stadium on Jeju island were not even local teams that Koreans or Japanese wanted to see. The result was a half full stadium for games like Slovenia vs Paraguay. If having the World Cup spread out among 2 countries wasn't enough, they sent teams down to an island where fans who already spent thousands of dollars getting to the far east wouldn't want to chuck up another 180 dollars to see preliminary rounds.

The only redeeming qualities of the World Cup stadium in Seogwipo are the movie theater and saunas. I wish I could say the ballpark food makes up for the pathetic sports team (even more agonizing to watch than the Golden State Warriors), but it seems they even lack the funds to have warm hot dogs.

I was corrected by the worst-spelling teacher I've ever met, but to stick it to them, I'm still gonna say what I originally said and stand by my redundant statement: 'We have regressed back to winter.' Now I know it doesn't look good for an English Teacher to make such an error. OF COURSE we are going back when we regress, but then again why do we say 'write down'? Can you ever write up? No. Gravity is our limitation to writing, therefore we must always be writing down, or maybe sideways. But don't bust out your space camp NASA wannabe crap by informing me about zero-gravity pens. I've heard of them nerd-linger so save your smart-ass comments for your part-time tech support job. Anyway, do you see my point? I am simply stating that we 'regressed back to winter' in the same way one says 'write down on paper'.

Regardless of semantics, it's cold. Jeju (and all of Korea... and China) bore the brunt of a huge cold front that hit China with the biggest snow storm in 50 years, and rescinded the offer of spring for Korea, forcing me specifically to apologize to the weather gods for teaching my kids about Groundhog Day in America. The temperature here dropped from an average of 65 during the day to 40, that's just a cold trick to play on us. That lonesome groundhog Phil predicted an early spring, but I guess he can't predict the erratic nature of Mother Earth's vicious attacks upon Al Gore fans. I still can't believe a PowerPoint presentation received an Oscar.

stupid groundhog.

Just when you think Korea couldn't top it's own ludicrousness, it just does one better. I refer to the first weekend of March 2007 as evidence for such claims: I attended the mother of all festivals, state fairs, and insane demonstrations. The Fire Festival in Jeju is like none other. The festival lasts three days and culminates in the most awesome spectacle of environmental destruction that would give Smokey The Bear a simultaneous stroke, heart attack, and aneurysm. The Jeongwol Daeboreum Fire Festival is a celebration that originated in 1997 and is meant to reproduce the symbolic act of village farmers burning the grasses containing harmful insects to their crops. Yet, one would have no clue that is the reasoning behind the destruction of an entire "oreum", a small mountain in Jeju dialect, and that's exactly what happens.

Rafiq, Gretchen, Lauryn and I went to the festival on Friday to scope things out, play around, and hopefully see some destruction. Unfortunately, a mere attempt at merriment contained an ambulance intermission. The injury occurred at the dry-sledding ride where all the kids seemed to be having fun. But the seemingly safe amusement turned deadly for the left ankle of Gretchen. A bit of confusion and long waiting later, I rode with her back to Seogwipo to get her foot X-rayed. (Pro: Ambulance rides are free. Con: X-rays are upwards of 200 dollars.) I returned with the Paramedics in the back of the truck and remembered my only previous ambulance ride when I was 8 years old. At the festival we once again made an appearance on TV, there's something so appealing about the foreigner's perspective in Korea. It's like everyone is looking for validation from the only white people there, as if our thumbs up or "Chu wa hae yo" places significant approval from the western world on their culture. I'm sorry Korea, but I just like quirky and different things, you might have trouble gaining acceptance from the other 299,999 million people I represent. Nonetheless, you guys know how to party, because nothing says, "we kick ass" like a mountain high bonfire with fireworks propelling from the top.

Anyway, the next day was the finale in which the fire I have mentioned was lit by a group of slow marching people that from my distance resembled either a satanic cult or an angry lynch mob. Before the symbolic act, which was accompanied by the pumping sounds of Enya, was preceded by thousands of people shooting Roman candles into the air.

The torch carrying members of the mob began the intense forest fire by lighting the wood structures that people had built over the previous two days along the base of the mountain. I tell you people, if you've ever witnessed an uncontrolled burn of dry brush in the wild, it's awesome! We watched a mountain burn within minutes. The inferno ripped through the hillside sucking out all the oxygen and fueling itself with the rush of wind it drew upon itself. As the fire began spreading the fireworks began soaring.

Like I said before, just when you think Korea couldn't become any more out-of-control, you're proven wrong. I never thought I'd get to see a wildfire... thanks Korea...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, back to my crackin' day...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word.

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

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

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

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

An Example of Thoughtlessness:

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

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

Distracted yet again...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have the question of the ages:

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

to be continued...

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