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.