I have one day of work this week, on Monday, obviously, and then I leave for Tokyo, Japan with my miserable bastard of a best friend, Jamie Caturani.
It’s going to be good. I haven’t really left this sprawling Asian megalopolis in the whole of my stay, but I figure going from one big Asian city to another big Asian city hardly count; I can, however, say that I’ve wanted to go to Tokyo for as long as I can remember, and now I am, which makes me very happy.
I almost killed myself on a scooter this morning, and I watched a guy named Disco Pete get drunk and dance around a bar in women’s shoes that one of my buddies, Stu, payed her 40,000 won for, just so he could continue to wear them. It was honestly one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life. The guy is such named “Disco” because he has a large penchant for getting exceptionally drunk and doing all sorts of dance moves.
We went and played screen golf, yesterday, which was fun. It also meant we started drinking at 3 and didn’t stop until 3 am. All in all, an incredibly fun day capped off by the knowledge that I’m the fuck done with work for almost a whole week in a few hours, and will while away the hours in Japan partying, abusing people with Jamie and uttering the only phrase I deemed hilarious enough to learn in Japanese: “Are you Chinese?”
Check back for updates after my trip.
The wonderful, Welshman Ciaran gave me a little surprise this morning.
A Korean man he met almost 2 years ago at a bus station sends him an email every month. They had coffee for 20 minutes, exchanged emails, and this guy has sent him one every month, without fail, regardless of the fact that Ciaran has never, ever responded to the emails. I read it, and honestly thought it was too good to not share with every body. Without further ado, here it is:
this is yoon ki, kim in seoul
the evergreen clour june has merged into the sultry of july again, , call us to the blue ocean or the mountain resorts, , yet, we have any ambushes on way to the carvival. . so called korea monsoon or jangma, when everyday the drizzle or other torrentical carrries away with the humidities, resutling in the the apec of our discomforted index, , , , is that true?
it is around 11 am, a fine day, , clarani,, for me, ,
from the old lyric, or song by skeeter Davids, the end of word, let me sooth up my fashion or fever in this burning season, ,
why do my heart keep on beatin on , why do the birds sing songs, why the waves rush to the sea ?/ the answer is that it ends when yu said good bye,,
so much bemoarning song, , lamanation, , it gives us more calm down or touchign over the sense, yet not long lived ,, only transint,,
doy yu like to listen to the song?/ or cheerfu one,, likewise a hey jude by Beatles ,or annie song by John denver, sweet carloine by neildiamond,
it depends on what we are here i or what kind of mood is besiged by us, , at any rate, ,
let us set up the new records, inciting on that never pass away at every second , minute , think over how much lovely yu face with others without any wasting time or days amen
hi i have to go , have a good time , a heavnly father, pls come down with us and get rid of any sinful nature that issure to stiff on my breathes, amen
from; yoon ki,ki m
Come all ye faithful, and sit at the feet of my chair of pontification. Bask in the glory of my words, and take solace in the fact that you, all my friends and faithful, don’t teach 5 year olds.
Kidding. Not about teaching five year olds, because I do that, but kidding about the implied tone of bitterness. There’s too much good, which I keep finding all around me, to really find myself at the crossroads of bitterness and hate. I’m around the corner, but that’s nothing new.
What is new is the fact that in approximately 2 hours and 54 minutes, I will have been in this strange, freaky land of Korea for exactly 6 months, more or less. I’m approximating, again, because I don’t remember when, exactly, I got here. If I did I’d be much, much more anal than I’m willing to be.
Goddammit, it seems weird to say I’ve been here for a half a year. A half a fucking year. If I was having a baby, I’d be almost done, but I’m not. That would be three more months, and I have another six. That’s weird to think about, really; I mean, if these last six go like the first six did, I’ll be out of here and partying at some dive bar in Texas before I realize what the fuck happened to me.
The passage of time is a tricky beast; it’s mercurial and transitory, at best. At worst, it’s fleeting and hollow. I think that we realize it more as we get older. Not to say that I’m ready to start thinking myself old, but old enough to become a slight more aware of the tangible trickling of time’s fickle current.
I don’t really have too much to allow. I’m happy, more or less. There are some things I wish were a little better, but when I start complaining, I just sit back and think “at least I don’t have bird flu.”
Leave me a comment, bitches.
Fuck it, man. It’ s been a long time. This urge to write that some people have is a transient beast, for me. It comes and goes, and lately, it’s just usually been gone. Out to lunch, as they say.
Jesus, where to start.
OK, well, here. In a few days, it will be six months since the beginning of this venture. I won’t say “adventure,” not merely because it would be about as cliche as a 15 year-old being into A New Found Glory because all the songs ‘just make sense, man.” And second, because I don’t think I’ve had enough worldly experience to call anything an adventure. Climbing a mountain, now that sounds like an adventure. Doing a massive coke deal or something, also sounds adventurous. I teach 5 year-olds and lose my shit on the weekends, so I’m not exactly Bear Fucking Grylls, I fear.
Interesting things do seem to happen, though. I’ve been trying to really hammer down what I’m going to go for in this post, seeing as it’s been so damn long that almost a whole chapter of my life has gone unrecorded. Needless to say, this past, oh, month and a half has been fucking epic. The stuff of legends- very freaky, very surreal legends.
My weeks are pretty banal, I won’t succumb to hyperbole, here, and blow a bunch of hot shit up your ass about how awesome Korea is, all the time. I teach little kids, then I have a lunch break, then I teach kids a little older, then I go home and take off my pants and generally peruse the internet until my eyes bleed, then I rinse and repeat.
But the weekends make it worthwhile. The weekends are like stepping into Narnia, where there are Tumnuses every where, and little Russian kids run around with no pants on. Oh, you don’t believe me?
Yeah, suck it. It’s out of focus, because Jamie took it and British people suck at lens-work. Sorry.
So really (and I’ve been thinking about this all day) I feel the best way to do this is present a list, in no real order, I feel, of some of my favorite stories/images/freaky happenings, so far. I will keep it to 10 items, so as to not alienate the more perpetually distracted of you. HEY! Yeah, pay attention. So here:
10- This video some of you have seen. For those of you who haven’t, it’s from me and Dave in Gangnam, which is a really nice area of Seoul. Ritzy stuff; Chanel shops, shit like that. Were were stooping it on a sidewalk curb, Dave eating an ice cream, me drinking a tall boy, when we met this old Korean man. He was tore the hell up. I could explain more, but just watch the video.
The way this ended was as such: I turn to Dave and go “Let’s just run away,” and we literally sprinted away, laughing.
9-One night, at Dave’s apartment, after many, many Long Island Iced Teas, and a long night of drinking, we got half naked and rolled around on Dave’s kitchen floor. Then we beat the shit out of Jamie, which seems to be a regular thing; it’s just not a weekend, in my book, if I don’t sink a fist into his stomach, or put him into an arm bar. Also, I wrote one of the best songs ever whilst lying on the floor by myself at 5 am, drinking $7-a-bottle Silver Dragon Gin, which will be coming out within the next year, entitled “Fat Canadians,” and also, these photos were taken:
Here’s me putting Jamie into that arm bar I mentioned. “That hurts, man,” is all Jamie every says. Just makes me want to hurt him more and more.
8- THIS guy:
This is Zac. Jamie and I met him randomly one night, and ended up tying one on with him til about 6 a.m. He was out here from Hollywood, buying clothes for cheap to sell back home. Fucking cool guy. A lot of fun was had that night and I ended up wearing a Tom Landry hat. Check it:
Jamie’s holding a bottle of makale. It’s a somewhat cloudy-white rice wine. It’s also about $2 a bottle, and that shit FUCKS you up, which leads me to #7…
7- When People Drink Makale.
Makale makes parties happen. It turns people into monsters and parties into full-on raging boner parties. Here’s a few pics of some of my favorite people involving themselves in Makale:
First off, meet Makale Man. If you’re in Hongdae, at any time of day, expect to see this fucker wheeling around his cart of chemicals, which looks like this:
This was our 3rd bottle of Makale. I kept turning my back on Jamie, and he kept buying more. When dude’s drink Makale, dudes three-way Vespas. Just happens.
A few more:
Ross looks OK (Ross is one of Jamie’s friends from Cambridge, doing doctoral work on cancer research. He was in Tokyo for a conference with his wife, Cath, another Doctor.) but just LOOK at Jamie’s stupid fucking face. That’s Makale. Here, I have proof:
The fucker FOUND that bottle of Makale on the ground, after he ran out of his own stash, and started drinking it.
Here’s Elyse getting Makale’d. Notice the symmetry as they drip off her chin. That shit has a mind of its own.
And finally, here’s my personal favorite:
Here’s what happens when an out-of-shape British lab rat steps up. Ross tackled me out of my chair cause I said something about how much meat pies suck, and he paid for it. I put him into a kimora. Kick ass, right?
6-Sundays in the Park.
Past few weeks, I’ve had some seriously awesome Sunday’s in the park. Just lounging, doing whatever and, oh yeah…this:
Team Rolling Thunder, the greatest tandem bike riding team of all time. Tandem bike riding is seriously awesome.
Here’s some other park pictures. Good, clean (mostly) times:
Me and some sort of power ranger, or some weird Asian shit.
Dave, Jamie, Me and Clover.
Taken whilst tandem biking. Notice the unabashed glee.
These are more recent. I only put them in to put down Jamie, who’s totally gay.
What an asshole.
Dave rules. I could write a bunch more, but I won’t. You just have to meet him to really get it. Nonetheless, here’s a few pictures which I think sum up our friendship:
He bought me that shirt.
Dave’s a hoss. He picked me up and put me on his shoulder’s at the World DJ festival, which was great cause it was all about me until some asshole Kiwi poured a beer down the backs of both our shorts. Fucker. Go be an extra in The Two Towers, or something.
Wow. What can be said in summarization of Jamie Caturani? Not much. I think these pictures speak for themselves. I love this cat.
This is from the beginning. Short fucking hair and matching sweaters. Our tops always seemed to match first few weeks out, here.
What a fucker, ruining my kickass rendition of Pantera’s “This Love.”
The picture of innocence vs. Jamie, the picture of crappiness.
3- The great people I’ve met.
I’ve met some really great people. Besides those already mentioned, here are some pictures of said good people.
Obviously, Phil. To his right is Milton, another solid Texas cat.
My favorite Brits. Besides the meat (Jamie) the bread consists of the lovely Chris and Clover. Great people.
Thumbs up for friendship.
Dave and Nuna, or Hyang, her actual name. Hands down one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met. She has taken a shine to Dave, Jamie and myself. She’s a party promoter who used to be in film distribution. She’s going to take us to all sorts of cool shit. So awesome.
From left to right: Alexis, Dave’s Scottish roomate, Ross, Cath, myself, Erlse, Jamie and Dave. In the subway, on the way to the park.
I don’t actually know these guys, they are just REALLY funny looking. Look at that mohawk/pompadour.
Me and Autumn. She pantsed Dave the other day, and it scared him so much, he shot his knee forward into a metal door and had to ice it the rest of the day. Hilarious.
Me and Haji. Kiwi guy. Barrel of laugh. He stood up for me after only knowing me for a week to this chubby Canadian I got into an argument with (which I won) and she was talking shit about how I was a stupid, typical idiot Texan. Haji smacked that bitch up. Verbally, of course.
2- I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s continued to happen. A few times a week, I get stopped by this old Korean man on the street, who’s lately taken to wearing a NY Yankees hat. He doffs his cap, shows his bald head and rambles on in Korean for a while, bowing all the time to me, and sometimes stroking my arm. It makes my day. I have my own groupie.
1- Korean Danny Devito
Met this guy at a recent baseball game. Funniest fucking thing I’ve seen in a while.
Well, if that isn’t enough for you, then go fuck yourself. That was an epic post, in concentration, and hopefully in content. Much love, and don’t take any wooden nickles.
See you in a few months.
Yes, I know that I suck at being consistent. I’ve never been good at it, I’ll be the first to admit, and especially with writing this crap, I seem to be really falling behind. But I’m not going to make any promises, because I know that I write when I can, when I find time and just generally when I have half a care to sit down and bang away at these little plastic squares.
So what’s been happening?
Well, not much. Usual good things, random acts and fascinating misunderstandings. Oh, and making fun of Canadians.
For instance, Jamie and I were out with our buddy Chris, and we were with a large group of people. It was this Kiwi guys last night out, and his friend stood up and gave this very eloquent toast bidding him safe travels and good luck in the future, etc. etc. When he sat down, there was somewhat of a pause, and the group of about 15 people sort of sat around for a second, unsure of how to progress. At which point, I say, audible for all of the present guests, (about 6 of whom were Canadian) “And regardless of what country we are all from, we can agree that Canada sucks.” Then everybody drank. Priceless timing.
Then, last night, were standing around, stooping it up on a street corner, drinking beers outside and running into all sorts of random people we’ve met along the way, here, and this really drunk Canadian girl dressed like a 15 year-old raver stumbles up and goes, and this is verbatim, mind you all, “Just where is where are this?”
Everybody sort of stops and looks at her, and I say, “Are you an ENGLISH teacher here?”
She takes a moment to focus on who was speaking, which was me, and reads my shirt. Honestly, I was surprised she was literate.
“Tenacious D,” she says, reading my shirt, “are YOU an English teacher?”
“Yes,” I say, “and my grammar is impeccable.”
Then later I moonwalked
Next weekend we are going on a little vacation to Busan, by the beach. Should be a nice trip. I’m itching to get out of the city. It’s a great place, but it can be taxing, this urban clusterfuck called Seoul. The homogeneous nature of the population (Korea is one of the purest countries are far as dissemination of blood) is really demonstrative of the place as a whole; every part of the city looks exactly the same. You can pop out of the subway in North, East, West or South Seoul and you’ll see the same Western chain restaurants, the same drab, gray buildings, and the seemingly never-ending array of shopping super-stores. They are like Wal-marts, but vertical in their organization. To be fair, everything is convenient, but it can be tediously banal, seeing the same four edifices every where one turns.
As far as the job goes, it’s the same old. I teach even younger kids now; they are about 5 years old, and speak basically no English. It can be incredibly frustrating at times, of course, but it does have some rewards, when they actually pick stuff up, it’s nice to see that light go on.
I’m staying busy enough, I guess. If any of you want to send me some stuff, send me books. You know the kind- things with dragons, spaceships or science. Or titties.
I’ll offer renumeration in the form of silly Korean things.
I’m from Texas, and in the great state there is a law that says that a verbal agreement can be permissible in a court of law. Seeing as how we, in this great age of digital communications that we find ourselves in so infrequently find the time to actually talk face-to-face with our friends and loved ones, I feel it is my duty to make known a few things.
If I am ever incapacitated, i.e. in a coma, a vegetative state, etc. I have a few demands that I want known on public record, and seeing as how a few of you actually ARE my friends, I think this is as good a forum as any to make my demands known. So without further ado, here are my desires.
1- You will play the song “My Soul and my Spirit Will Go On,” by Dragonforce no fewer than twice a day.
2- You will put a piece of chocolate into my mouth once daily, even if I’m so far gone that I literally can’t masticate said piece or enjoy it. Allow it to simmer, and then remove it before it blocks my air passage.
3- Depending on the length of my vacation, you will play/read/act out the Lord of the Rings Trilogy to me ever fortnight. (That’s twenty days.)
4- You will put a pretzel in my nose every 45 hours.
5- I will not be laid upon a regular pillow. Instead, the entire 3 screenplays from the original Star Wars trilogy will be bundled together and used to prop my unresponsive head up.
6- Underneath said screenplay-pillow will be a copy of Harper Lee’s classic To Kill a Mockingbird.
7- You will all do your damndest to get one of the following people to my room. You will then hold up my hand and allow them to give me an assisted high-five:
-Steve from Blues Clues
-David Cross/Zach Galifinakis
-Jean-Claude Van Damme
And finally, if my vitals aren’t improving, and I show no signs of resuscitation, you will pull the plug, and give me a Viking funeral whilst “Run to the Hills,” by Iron Maiden plays. Then you will all party like it’s 1999, and play “1999” by Prince.
“TEXAS WINS!” I scream, running amidst tables of unsuspecting but nonetheless supportive young Korean couples, dolling out hi-fives like supplies and medical aides in war-torn Africa, “TEXAS WINS! YOU KNOW IT, MOTHERFUCKER!”
Let me backtrack.
I was out Friday night with my friend Phil and a few of his friends, in Gangnam. Fun place, little bit ritz-ier of a joint than Hongdae, the more frequented haunt by me and mine. It had been the first night in god-knows-how-long that I didn’t have Jewface or Posh Spice along for the ride. (That’s my friends Dave and Jamie, respectively. [New York Jew and Londoner, respectively])
Anyway, Phil and I separated from the group, briefly, for a short tryst with some delightful street vendor food. I ran to grab us some beer, and Phil, being the magnanimous personality he is, had already made fast friends with the group of three 20-something Korean guys at the same stall as us. When I got back, plans had already been made- we were to join them for some drinking. Now, in Korean culture, it’s a big deal to invite someone drinking. These guys are a bit younger, so the more formal approach is a bit more streamlined, but nonetheless, it amounts to the inviter disallowing the invited from doing anything but getting exactly what said invited party desires, and for footing the bill for the whole party.
Now, for Koreans, I’m sure it’s a treat to get to hang out with foreigners, they can practice their English and get a nice commodity thrown into their night for the price of just a few beers; for us, it’s just as much a treat, as we can practice our Korean, however juvenile it may be at this stage, (for me: hello, beer/draft beer/pitcher of beer, give me, please, thank you, goodbye, etc.) and meet some new people.
A common questions for Koreans to ask you when they first meet you, for men that is, is “how many bottles of soju can you drink?” Soju is the national drink, here. A census took last year estimated that the average Korean adult consumes somewhere in the ball park of 70-or so bottles of Soju per year. Soju’s distilled like vodka, and tastes a bit like it, just sweeter. But it’s not good.
So we were drinking with these guys for about an hour, playing some Korean drinking games, when this guy asks me how much Soju I could drink.
His “nickname” was Andy. Most Koreans adopt an occidental name for use with foreigners. The guy to my right in the booth didn’t have one, but he was a smooth motherfucker, so I called him “Frank,” like Old Blue Eyes, the Chairman of the Board, Frankie Sinatra. He didn’t know Sinatra, though.
“He’s like Elvis,” I explained, “except he never got all pussed-out and fatty-fat.”
So back to Andy:
In response to his question, I poured a shot of Soju, pounded it, and slid the shot glass across the table to him.
“Drinking contest,” I say, “…go.”
At that moment, I saw the fear in his eyes. Here, he saw, was a monster unleashed; some sort of terrible Man-Wolf who has been uncaged to torment the unsuspecting Red Riding Hood along the path. Here, he saw, was some foreign creature who didn’t know or understand the words “give up.” As he leveled his eyes at me over his shot glass, preparing to take the leap into defeat that was as certain as gravity bringing him down at 9.8 m/s2, I saw fear.
6 shots later, he quit.
“Nope. Now you gotta say ‘Texas wins,'” said Phil.
So Andy, the gracious loser he was, stands in our booth, bows and, hands clasped in front of his chest heaving heavy with crushing defeat, says, “Texas wins.”
I jump up, literally leaping from my seat, and tear around our row of tables, ripping off my sweater to reveal my Texas State University shirt (which I had very serendipitously worn that night) and handing out the aforementioned hi-fives to the residents of the surrounding tables.
One of my finer moments, to be certain. I didn’t get home that night until 7:30.
I hung out with Phil last weekend, too. We met him after the FC Seoul v. LA Galaxy game. Here’s a few pictures from the match:
Bending it like…himself.
Here were the FC Seoul supporters. They were the only ones in the joint making a racket. Our entire section, and we were quite close, mind you, was very, very quiet. Naturally, I took advantage of this to heckle. First half, Becks was playing along our sideline, no more than 50-60 yards from us. I KNOW he heard me yelling at him a few times. If people in the first row were turning around to hear me calling him a pussy, then he had to have caught at least a smidgen of it.
Sausage Fest, 08′. That’s Phil’s friend Milton shooting the bird, then Phil, obviously me, Jamie and then this cat Haji we’ve met here; he’s a Kiwi whose parents are from Somalia. Solid guy. Runs around with a Welshman who Jamie and I invariably end up partying with.
Priceless. He woke up 40 minutes later and partied for another 3 hours. Phil rules.
Anyways, the game was OK. Becks looked pretty piss-poor most of the time. Most of the LA players looked like 3-rate girls players. FC Seoul had a few tricky players, but overall the game was hampered by the lack of effort and truly the worst officiating I’ve ever seen. FC Seoul tied the game on a very dubious PK that was awarded them. It was a total shit call. The opener was put into the back of the net off of, no doubt, a Beckham free kick that was nodded in by some scrub-tastic LA striker. Total gimme goal. Nonetheless, it was a good experience, and a cool thing to see, for sure. It was played at the World Cup stadium; the Cup was co-hosted by Japan and Korea in 02′. Pretty nice joint. Here are a few pics of the stadium, itself:
Inside. Break yo’self, fool.
Welllllll, that’s it for now, party people. Again, apologies for the nothing short of sporadic frequency of these posts, but when the come, you damn well know they’re worth it. Stay well and don’t take any wooden nickels.
Yes, party people- Today, Feb. 21st, 2008 is my official three month mark here in Korea.
It’s surreal. It’s profound. But mostly, it’s just another day in the life of an expat.
Today was Kindergarten Graduation, and believe you me, it was hilarious. Here’s a recap of the last few days:
Yesterday was a dress rehearsal for today’s full-on production. The highlight? The highlight was when a 5 year-old named Sky (His English name; all the kids have an English nicknames they use at school.) was reciting his poem when he stopped, grabbed his dick through his pants, got a very concerned look on his face, and then started pissing himself. Pee was literally coursing over his hands, through his pants. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and you know what? I was the only one laughing. Call it a taste for the macabre, call it plain cruelty, call it what you will. I think I can peg it on my American public schooling, where ridicule, peer pressure and scorn are the driving forces on which all of my actions are predicated. None of the other teachers, who are all Canadians, mainly, or the Korean teachers or students even gave it a second look. It was another of those profound cultural revelations, for me. In my book, if I saw a kid do that, even in Kindergarten, he’d be ridiculed, literally for the rest of his public school career, and probably even into the post-collegiate era of their lives. But the kids looked, saw and went about their normal actions. I couldn’t help but think of one of my friends, who was called “Little Dick,” for almost 6 years. Blew my dome, man.
Well today was the full production. It was a packed house. The foreign teachers all did a skit or a poem with their kids, and the Korean teachers all did a song and dance number. I wrote up a little play for my kids, who were in costume. Each age-level had a costume. My kids looked like they were patrons of Studio 54, and the age below me looked like a mix between Evil Keneval and a stripper. Basically, the costumes showed off the mid-riff, were sleeveless and were sequined. ALLLLLL sequins, baby. It was hilarious/gay/disturbing/awesome.
But other than that, there’s not much to report. I work, I sleep and I hang out with the usual- a British punk and a Jew from the South Bronx.
Today, during one of my Kindy classes (of which I have no more for the rest of February, praise be to Allah) we were playing the “Quiet Game,” the classic match up of wits and will power where the first person to speak or make a sound loses. Two of the three kids in my class were out from laughing at me flaring my nostrils, and it was down to me and the last kid in my class.
Now, let me say, I’m FUCKING amazing at the Quiet Game. I’m an impenetrable wall of silence, skill and will, a visage broken only by the panty-melting smile that occasionally graces my face.
So I’m staring down Owen, the last contestant in this match of matches, when Amber, or, as she’s called in the class, “Hamburger,” runs in front of me and gives me the double bird. The middle fingers right in my grill. I fucking lose it, figuratively and literally, as I lose the game to Owen. I couldn’t help it; she’s the cutest little girl, just ravaging me with the bird. It was hilarious.
Anyways, that’s all I got, really. I love your comments, all; they make me happy and keep me going.
Loves to all. To the end we’ve come to this Grey Beast of February, look onwards to the springboard that is March.
Forgive my tardiness in updating my blog. I’ve been immersed in Dune, the Frank Herbert classic for the past week, and have done little else in the evenings.
I will try, for all our sakes, to keep this rolling with a shade more regularity. But then again, if wishes were nickels I’d be worth about twenty bucks. What? I’m a pragmatist.
So last Monday, for those of you who are keeping track, was my official two-month mark here in Korea. It certainly doesn’t seem like that long. It seems like a week, maybe less. It’s all been such a fantastic blur, I’m having a hard time keeping my head straight as I sit here and reflect, and finally take some time to ponder the past and the path I’m on.
I’ve met some really, really great people. They say good things come in pairs (I think that’s the saying, anyways; if not, fuck “them”) and my friends here have certainly proved that equation to be true. Dave and Jamie are two great friends. I just had a ten minute conversation with Jamie while I took a poop. He didn’t seem to mind when I said, “hey, I gotta wipe, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Dave is, for all intensive purposes, a super-jew. If you don’t believe me, here’s digital proof.
“Whaddya gonna do, eh?”
I literally spend all and every weekend with these guys. It rules. We could have been that sitcom “Three’s Company.”
Anyway, I’ve really found a groove. I have a schedule in the week, and the weekend turns into all-out war. It’s fantastic. Every weekend is an adventure. It’s always more or less the same surroundings, the same places, but the in-betweens are fucking insane.
Like one Saturday night a few weeks ago, Jamie and I were walking down the side of the street in an area of town called Apujeong, which is called the “Beverly Hills” of Seoul. It’s a really ritzy-type area of shopping and night clubs. Don’t know quite what a couple of fucks like us were doing there, but such is life. Here’s a picture of The Galleria, a mall with only high-end shops like Luis Vatton and Gucci.
This was just after Christmas, and the lights flashed and changed in a pattern. It was pretty cool.
Anyways, we were walking down the street, and there were these two really drunk young Korean guys. It wasn’t terribly late, maybe 1:30-2 am, but these fools were 4 am drunk, to be certain.
One of them was stumbling, rambling, and the other was walking his tricked-out bike alongside. The bike had pegs and pads and stuff, something out of my 4th grade sense.
We, naturally, started making fun of them in rapid English. See, you get used to the idea that, to a certain degree, you can say basically whatever the hell you want in front of whoever the hell you want.
We were making fun of his pegs and his pads, but not in a malicious manner. We were also the only people out on the street. Well, we get to a cross walk at a big intersection, and the more drunk of the two, the one stumbling alongside the bike, suddenly turns to us and yells, “ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF MY FRIENDS BIKE? MAN, HE SAVED FOR TEN YEARS FOR THAT BIKE, MAN.”
We started laughing. Then the guy kicked a street sign and fucking broke it in half, and he stepped up to the plate, getting in Jamie’s face. I started backing up, saying “Jamie, let’s just go, let’s go, let’s go,” but Jamie wasn’t having it. He just looked at the guy and went “Man, we were just joking. It’s OK.”
The drunk guy just sort of stopped, and, for once, saw logic through his alcohol-induced fuzz. I’d never seen a drunk actually just snap out of a violent state and go, “man, I’m really sorry,” but the guy did. Then we hugged it out, and left. It was wild.
That’s just an average night, though, as a foreigner, here. Of course, there are areas where you can just hang out with other foreigners, and not get involved in any interesting situations, but me and the other dudes like to sort of thrust aside that line of thinking.
Like one night Dave went home, this was about 3:30, and Jamie left with another friend, and I was alone by myself in Hongdae, a big drinking area. I just struck up a conversation with this group of 5 young Korean guys. I was like, “COME ON, Let’s DRINK, FUCKERS,” and we did. I hung out with them until about 7 am, getting thoroughly shitfaced with some of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. Every place they took me, I was the only whitey. It was so perfect. Here are some pictures:
Really cool guys. In fact, the guy with the cast on his hand, the one who’s attempting to eat my head in the first picture, is named Sun. I hung out with him last weekend, again. I should meet up with them tomorrow night, in fact. Here’s us last weekend.
All good things.
Here are some highlights of my week:
1-Being asked if I was 7′ ft. tall by an old Korean couple on the elevator at work.
2-Having a girl shit herself in class.
3-Teaching an entire Kindergarten class through a plastic brontosaurus I held in front of my face.
4-And this text message I got from my other new Korean friend, Gil:
“I’ll email those pictures 🙂 have a good day my precious man”
Gil is a guy I met at a bar the weekend of New Years. He’s really, really nice. I’m gonna play some music with him. He’s a good bass player, and when I told him I played some drums, he bricked in his pants. He took me to an open mic at the VFW, here. It was sorta depressing/hilarious/great all at the same time. I played some drums with a couple of old guys on some Neil Young songs. I kept adding fills and improv and stuff, and one of the guys turns to me after a song and goes, “hey, this song’s a bit slower, not as many fills,” to which I respond, “sorry, dude. I used to play in a metal band.” I told that faggot. Here are some pictures. For those of you who know Drew Goetz, tell me the guy in the right side of the picture doesn’t look like him.
Sorry for the poor quality, but I don’t give enough of a crap to compress them.
So that’s that, I guess.
I’m happy, healthy and enjoying my life as much as I could be, I think.
I hope you are all doing the same.
- Tomorrow: Kindergarten Hell. Tuesday: To-motherfuckin-kyo.
- Why does my heart keep on beating on…
- Six Months? Yeah. Six fucking months.
- It’s been a few days.
- Please take note, for this could be important.
- Texas Wins!
- Three months; 25% done.
- Two Months.
- Hello, Robots.
- What a hell of a weekend.