5 Times Role Playing Let Me Experience Sports ... Differently.

As is well known, Sporting Heroes have lorded it over Dramatic Geeks for all time. Movies consistently show the Jock in a position of power, and the Geek only rarely succeeds. Sports movies do better than Movies about acting. When the most popular medium to express your form does it best work emulating another thing, that other thing is better. 

And lo, the lesson was learned. My geeky, acting, role playing behind was to forever kowtow to the big bully that is outdoor pursuits. I learned my place in the pecking order of most life choices. I clung to the library as a child, playing my D&D , my Warhammer and my Blood Bowl. When I lived in Korea, Board game cafes such as Noretah (owned by the very excellent Hailey) let me play Catan, or even better, a whole host of role playing games. My thanks on this occasion to Anthony, Seth, and Jeremy.

But in both landscapes, sports would always make an appearance. My body would think about sunshine and running and how lovely it all sounded. I would sign up for tryouts and I would make it. I'd be part of a team and there would be much butt slapping. Unfortunately, I would start playing and , well, this happened...

Rugby

Rugby was a big deal at Watford Grammar school for Boys. And, no, it wasn't *that* posh. We were just better than you. And, every year there would be an Inter Form tournament of rugby. So, each class of thirty boys would make a team of seventeen players, allowing for two subs. I would have to be worse than just over half the class to avoid playing. This would mean being worse than people with asthma, or people who could only look one way. So, I would find myself in the Full Back position. This is the last defensive man on the field. He is the rugby equivalent of an American Football Safety. I have no idea why my class gave me the position. All I know was that I ended up being savagely run over by Edward Lewsey. Ed's older brother, Josh, would go on to represent England. Ed was lined up to be a better player.  And he HATED me. So, once he had run around all the rest of my team, he would make a bee line for me en route to scoring a try. Here's the thing, As he charged me down, my myopic vision presenting me with a blurry angry tosser, I suddenly thought of my Dwarf army. I became as slow as them. And as he ran me over, and I fell, I held on. I held on as I thought a dwarf would hold on. And Ed went down. Every. Single. Time. My performance was so good I got a tryout with the Second Fifteen. Of course I failed that almost immediately, but for a brief glorious moment, my dwarf army spirit stood me in good stead.

Paintball

Let me tell you about my friend Jon. Jon is one of those nut bags you meet in a pub one night and he seems quiet enough, relaxed enough, that you allow into your life. Then you find out he is an ex circus aerialist who loves making cosplay swords and building armour. I know, it just gets better and better. He is also the premier go to guy with regard to paint balling. Eventually, I found myself attending one of his day trips. Once we had put on all the gear, I became quite claustrophobic. I couldn't move freely and the visor I had to wear was covered in scratches, impairing my vision. I then thought about real  soldiers and the gear they have to carry. Rather than continue the thought trail of 'Just how weak am I?' I focused on role playing as a n00b soldier. This was a terrible idea. As we set up for the first game (Ha!GAME!WAR AIN'T NO GAME!) my team was in a dusty corridor. I hyperventilated, freaking out. When I thought I saw another soldier I dove into the next room, a bee-yoo-tee-full Hollywood dive that would have impressed Michael Bay. Unfortunately I then landed and it felt like I had crushed my ribs. I lay there gasping, until someone shot me in the back. The next game my team held someone hostage. I lay down on the ground and waited to ambush someone. Of course this meant someone crept up behind me and strafed me with about twenty paintballs. I hit the ground with my head and played dead. Only, this time, I really role played it. I imagine my life blood draining from me. I lay there, an out of focus black stone the last thing I was going to see. My breath shortened, the mud flecks touching my quaking lips. I died that day, alone and scared. My friends had to come and get me when the game finished. I had to pretend I had hit my head on a stone and temporarily concussed myself.

Softball

Man, I was NOT good at Softball. However, I never missed the ball when I hit and I ran through the bases pretty well. I never hit a homer, but I also never hit a pop up. My problem was fielding. What do you call that place deeeeep behind First Base? I called it home on Sunday afternoons. And the thing is, under the sun, all alone with nothing to do, aided by an inevitable Soju hangover,  my mind wandered. Which is superb if I am chilling under the stars, or alone at home, or pretty much anywhere that is NOT raining softballs. So, in my mind wandering, I became separate from my corporeal form. I floated a few meters away, judging my skinny frame and joke of facial hair. (Don't worry folks, both filled out admirably.) I floated up and away. High above the field , I could see all. I was able to judge all I decided this would make me an umpire. I observed a powerful <THWACK!> and a ball rose up into the air, It hung for a moment next to my form. As it fell, I thought I should run to that, just to make sure it was a foul ball. I managed to run right next to the ball as it fell to the ground. I did not think for even a second about catching it. I was a goddamn Umpire, and umpires don't catch balls. As it landed , I judged it to be a foul ball, shouting 'safe' and performing a 'six" cricket symbol. Everyone laughed at the Englishman trying to do American Sports. I laughed along with them, hiding the shame that was to Sports badly in front of other Sportoes. My friends, Ole E and Big Mike ( My friends have the coolest names) then took me aside one night and taught me how to catch pop ups. It was one of the most fun nights I had that first year and they probably don't even remember it. 

Ultimate Frisbee

Yes, it *is* a sport. Right, got that out of the way. The ROK-U league is one of the best times I ever had, and I learned quickly this was a game at which you could suck and no one cared. My first season I played with my good friend Tony ( <---Where's your cool name, Tony?) and I realized, I couldn't throw well, I couldn't catch well, I couldn't run fast, and I couldn't run for. Long time. I suuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked at frisbee. I still went, but by the second season, my role had been clearly defined. I was very much a last resort for a substitute, but a bloody good heckler and drinker. So I role played. I thought about which person I would hate, if I were a lifetime fan of the team I was supporting. I would think about what they had done to earn my undying animosity. In my head, I would create sports news headlines, saying this player has been accused of acting like a pompous ass, throwing money around and thinking they were the bee's knees.  I shit you not, both 'pompous ass' and 'bee's knees' entered my mind as part of a process to get enraged. We call that English Gentlemanning Level 80. Anyway, I would then deliver a monologue of negative vibes and bad karma upon some hapless fooled. Usually it was Daejeon Pandemic who were so good, or Paul Groba, because shit happens, Groba. Shit happens. Thing is, off the field, I loved these people. They would hang out and we would drink. It was Korea. Of course we drank. I once asked Groba if it bothered him when I would heckle him. He'd chuckle and say it was a part of the game. And I, the real me, would desperately hope that to be true. But the Character I had created in my head wanted to see a fucking tear in his eye.

Mixed Martial Arts

So, if you have ever lived in Daegu in the last decade and you were a working emigrant, sorry, ex-pat, you probably know about Fight Club. That's because Nick Heroux's Fight Club is not a secret club designed to make white collar workers alive by beating the snot out of Meatloaf. It is a mixed martial arts society that meets to train, spar and develop fighting, self defense, confidence, health yadda yadda yadda. Honestly, I hated going to Fight Club. It was full of guys who were always going to be healthier, and apparently happier. I cannot think of one long term member who seemed withdrawn. Maybe Fish ( <---again, with the cool names) , but I think that was Probably because he was a former WetWork CIA agent, and how do you not feel sad about those memories? But that was not the real problem. I could not disengage from the act of sparring. I was always going to have to stay mind alert, body alert, mind aware, body aware. Do you guys have any idea how hard that is for someone like me? I have enough trouble focusing on writing a book. Now, instead of an iPad and keyboard in front of me, I got some bald Canadian punching me in the nose. And he is grinning about it. I lost focus at Fight Club a total of five times. The first time, Jamari (cool name) threw me up in the air and then jumped up to land his linebacker body all over me. THe second time, I got punched in the nose. The third , I rolled my ankle so badly I couldn't walk right for a week. That's right, I was one of Bad Santa's Mall Whores. The fourth, my knee went. The fifth, my ACL tore and my Meniscus shredded. My wife made me promise not to go to Fight Club again. Say what you will about those near naked sweaty dudes rolling around on the floor together in a cage, they are paying attention.

So, look, in a world suddenly filled with Pokemon Go, and geeks suddenly feeling okay about moving abut outside again, I say great. Just do it properly, role play that son of a bitch. Just, you know, focus. Don't walk into the the middle of the main road. Even if your character has decided this is a great way to further their back story. I'll understand, but you'll still be dead. 

My Day At The Bank

I went to the bank today. Last time I went, it ended up with a shouting match. This time I was resolved to remain calm at all times. So' I spent the entire time LiveMessaging my beautiful fiancé . Fiancée? Which one is the girl? Anyway.....

New Year, Old Man

Lets see if I can remember how to do this.  Haven’t written in a while so this is going to be streaming consciousness , off the cuff stuff. Last night was New Year’s Eve and it was a shitshow. It started off pretty badly on a personal level, but since that was resolved in ninety minutes of conversation with a coffee, I am not going to go into details here. And the following two hours were also pleasant. They were spent with a couple of old friends, a few new friends , drinking dancing and relaxing.

 

No.

I want to talk about the next couple of hours.

The Daegu Party hours. The time period of 3 to 5 is where the party animals come out to play. I don’t just mean the usual suspects of people who you first think of being at the centre of a good  time. I mean the Inner Party Animal. The Beast that Lurks in your darkest shadow. If they are out at that time, on any night, people have a tendency to just lose their shit. Otherwise respectable people become hard core and , ultimately, ridiculous.

Rejoining my friends at a cellar bar, the location was irrelevant. People were drinking. People were dancing. People were kissing. People were crying. Men were taking off their shirts and jumping around together in loose , messy circles. Men were holding other men back from hitting other men. Men were sat down, staring at other people having a good time. Some men were staring at women, some men were holding women, some men were laughing at women.

Jesus. Was I ever this awful? I am not even talking about the misogyny, although, fuck, I cannot believe that behaviour is still condoned in 2015. I am talking about the lack of fun. It just didn’t seem fun. It seemed intense, focused on proving to peer groups that this was a valid lifestyle choice, that this was the best way to go through a night. It seemed a little desperate. It seemed a little scary.

I left the party. I threw up a little in the street. I am not perfect. But I found a little corner that was not a shop front and upchucked because I had to. I walked the streets of Thursday and Kebab for a few moments. Snapshots of activity. Six people walking abreast, arms linked, forcing people to either side of them as they sang a song and kicked trash along the street. People running after other people, grotesque angry faces and fists raised. A woman walking alone arms folded and shivering, tears streaking her make up. A man making ‘Fight me’ eyes at me as he rolled past. Another man telling me the rumours were not true, he did not want to fight me.

Fight. Fight. Fight. Everything seemed so violent. I have never felt scared walking down Daegu at night. I have run away from people who wanted to hit me and I have sat down away from people who have punched me. However, those were specific things that led to a specific reaction. That was all personal. Last night seemed to have an edge of Impersonal Violence. I felt uncomfortable. I felt in danger.

Listen, I am sure some of this is due to the alcohol. Some of this is due to the cold. Some of this is due to the fact that I am getting older. Some of this is definitely due to the fact I now go out and do not know even a quarter of the people downtown. I understand that. Strangers are treated strangely, are regarded with strange eyes.

I understand all that and I still think something is amiss. In fact, I think we are so far from where we should be, we should ask for direction.

A police presence would not go astray. Responsible Barmen would not be a bad idea. Remembering the Line, ‘Nothing good happens after 2AM’.

Or I can just accept the fact my Inner Party Animal has Officially Retired. It has moved to Party Animal Homes, where it now looks forward to riding the Gym Bike, playing board games and hosting dinner parties. Where the prospect of sharing a wine bottle appeals more than downing a pitcher of beer. Where snuggling one person at 7PM at home sounds infinitely more appealing than hanging with my boys in a club, repping my crew. Jesus, that sounds hackneyed and childish.

Okay, Where are my pipe and slippers?

Life Hacks to Downtown Daegu

Downtown Daegu can be so hard, you know? If only there was some way to make life easier and less, you know, stressful. You know?

1) Get served at Gogos quicker. 

Go inside Gogos. Order at the bar and save 25 minutes on waiting time for death cocktail. 

                  There are so many cars trying to get through right now.

2) Need a poop?

Don't poop in bars. They're awful cesspools.  Go to one of the coffee shops. Do NOT go into galbi restaurant toilets. They have giant spiders and poop stains from yesteryear. 

       You, on a Saturday night , when you look up in a restaurant cubicle in Galbi Alley.

3) Live music venues are for live music listeners. 

Don't go watch your mate in a band if you're going to complain about the shitty audio. Ain't nobody got time for that. Go to your super classy Club Klassy Fokkers, where the audio is surely to their credit.

                      

                           Commune's was not ready for their brand of Speed Metal.

  

4) Learn when curfew is happening. 

Bar serve times will drop off dramatically. Also, the chance of you getting into trouble for referring to the Red Six as a 'Rounders team for silly little girls' drops off significantly.

          

                              Shrugging your shoulders and saying 'Sports, eh?' will not help.

5) Do not pee in the street.

We are in the city, in the 21st Century. Take the obligatory three steps into an alley or up a closed business's stairwell to do your business. 

                     

                           This guy only pees on the finest establishment's stairwells. 

     

6) Do not ask for baggy drinks to be made stronger more than once. 

Respect yourself.

        

           This guy asked for a stronger June Bug. He has been in a coma in this position for a week.

7) Keep that shit to yourself. 

 If you find a lovely, quiet mellow bar, do not tell anyone else about it. When you want to leave the over bass and under thrill of the other bars, you'll be thankful for the hour spent alone at a bar reading your book. 

        

    "Yep, definitely at Thursday's, as well. Get me a shot. I'll meet you by the pong table. For realzys."

8) Choose sexual partners accordingly.

If you are looking for a hook up at 3AM, ask yourself honestly what level of self respect do you have. If the answer is a lot, I honestly don't know what to tell you. Well done, I suppose. For the rest of you troglodytes, you have Who's Bob.

          

                                 Ladies, the Walk Of Shame is named as such for a reason. 

9) Taxis choices.

When getting a cab home, decide at the start if you trust the cab or not. If you do, slump into unconsciousness. If you don't, give him directions. Do not start shouting at him frantically halfway through your journey. Be better than me.

         

                  Also, do not confuse this for a taxi cab. Be better than my Mudfest friends.

10) Budget your drinking effectively. 

Daegu Drivers are three parts soju, three parts OJ, one part cider. Bamboo soju will do nicely. Captain Q is easy, the Chinese glass liquor should be avoided at all costs. Trust me. Trust my fractured liver.

        

                                                    Seriously, can we help this guy?

The ELT's Guide to The Godfather.

If I have learned one thing in my time in Korea, when Anne wants something it is usually a good idea to do it. I am joking. But not really. She has been my mentor since I was a week old TEFL n00b and I am lucky enough to consider her to be my best friend. SO, if she wants The Godfather's guide to ELT, you had better believe that is happening.


Cue the violins, and Puzo fonting....

Michael Corleone: Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.

My classroom is my home and my students are my family. Rule two in my classroom is no fighting. If they hit each other, or call each other names or act in a way that I find akin to bullying, I stop them and explain that we are a team. We live or die as a team. Seriously, like Ben Stiller says, There is no time for no Lauryn Hills.

If your student are your family, don't kiss them.

Peter Clemenza: Leave the gun. Take the cannoli. 

This adlibbed, off the cuff remark occurs after Clemenza's man has killed someone. The gun is no longer needed. The food is still a necessary part of Clemenza's day. Pick and choose your ELT weapons in a similar fashion. Do not get tied to one set of lesson plans. It gets boring for both you and your students. By choosing only the correct ELT tools for each individual lesson, with its individual issues, you can make the individuals learning perform better.

Don't shoot kids. THAT should be on EPIK orientation.

Michael Corleone: [to Sonny] It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business. 
Some kids are little shits and that is just how they do. It's not about you and it's not about your lesson. They act that way to everyone they meet. Some kids are dumb. It's not about you or your lessons. Let's be clear, you should ABSOLUTELY do everything in your power to make these kids perform better. However, when that bell rings, you have to remove them from your mind. They removed you from their life equation;you have to do the same.

"Ohhhhh, I had a rough kickin it in class, kids out here are kicking my ass, But I clear my head when I'm playing banjo, yes my name is Marlon Brando-oh."

Sonny: We don't discuss business at the table. 
There is a time and a place for everything.Planning a lesson when you are in the classroom with your kids and during the time you should be teaching is disrespectful. It is disrespectful tot the kids who are there to learn, to the person paying your wages, to the ELT community who are only ever associated with the lowest common denominator of teacher. It is also disrespectful to yourself. Take the time to plan properly and do it at an appropriate time and place.

For example, this is the wrong time and place to start the screenplay for The Godfather.

Tessio: Can you get me off the hook, Tom? For old times' sake?
Tom Hagen: [shakes his head] Can't do it, Sally. 

If you have rules in your classroom, enforce them. If your favourite kid breaks those rules, enforce your rules. No one gets a bye. I don't care if a retest has them  start to cry. I mean, I care, I'm not a monster. However, I care more about the justice that is perceived by everyone else in the classroom. You slack off on how you enforce rules, pretty soon the whole classroom will feel justified (correctly) to slack off as well.

Though you should make sure your rule enforcement tactics are age appropriate. This is good for Middle schoolers, maybe?

Emilio Barzini: [during a meeting with the Five Families] Times have changed. It's not like the Old Days, when we can do anything we want.  

The Old Days. Long Time Ex Pats gathered around a bar table will reminisce about how great the Old Days were. Don't blame us, we're old with bad back and creaky knees. Time was, being an ELT teacher was rare. Being a foreigner in a Korean city was rare. Job retention was high and job security was good. Everyone loved a hagwan teacher. Now, academies close all the time, the job market is shrinking even as the teacher influx has swelled. You are no longer a hot commodity. Owners and managers look at your work ethic, your work output and your skill set and compare it to literally thousands of others.

"Even you, Al Pacino can be replaced," lied De Palma as Brando wondered where he left his keys.

Michael: My father is no different than any powerful man, any man with power, like a president or senator.
Kay Adams: Do you know how naive you sound, Michael? Presidents and senators don't have men killed.
Michael: Oh. Who's being naive, Kay?

There is a high likelihood your boss is an arsehole. He does not care about your well being, whether it is making you work if you have a sore throat and runny nose, or if it a refusal to turn on the air con despite your sweat is clearly making a mini ocean around your desk. Suck it up. If you are doing this job in this country, chances are no matter where you go, you will have the same trials and tribulations. This comes with a warning. Some managers are not arseholes. They are nefarious criminals who should be challenged in a court of law. Know your rights and compare with other teachers, both in your hagwan and in your community.  Most criminal bosses work on the fact you don't know any better and the fear of isolation in a foreign country. Stand up to them. It is not as if they are the mafia.

Kiss my ring, you son of a bitch.

Grosse Pointe Blank's Guide To ELT

Well, based on the positive response I received for my last ELT Blog, I felt I had to do another one! Byt he way, there is a glorious feeling having your views on teaching validated by a larger community of trained teachers. Thank you to everyone who complimented the last blog. It can currently be seen on my best friend Anne's blog . Check it out, not only for my piece but also for her great ELT works and thoughts.

So this week's blog is going to be based on one of my favorite films growing up. I feel it is quite relevant to the expat community, dealing as it does with going home after long absences. Sometimes it can feel like everyone else has been in a glass bubble and you totally, while of course, to your family and friends you're the same person you were when you first left. Frustrating, isn't it?

Anyways, I am talking about the great hitman comedy, Grosse Pointe Blank. This movie stars the Cusack Siblings, Dan Ackroyd, Minnie Driver and a bunch of indie specialists. John Cusack plays a hitman who is suffering malaise from his current life. His secretary suggests his return to his school in time for a ten year high school reunion. I heartily recommend this movie to anyone who likes, quick wit, sharp dialogue,  well set action scenes and Dan Ackroyd.
 
Martin Q. Blank: Do you *really* believe that there's some stored up conflict that exists between us? There *is* no us. *We* don't exist. So who do you wanna hit, man? It's not me. Now whaddya wanna do here, man?

This scene takes place between Martin and his highschool nemesis/jock bully. However, it could just as easily be between you and your students. All lesson long they've been the worst. Chewing gum, looking at you with "Juguleh" eyes, talking to their friend, playing on their phone, being a complete assclown. You berate them, you tried to work with them you used all your tricks. Nothing worked and have to admit the truth. This kid 'beat' you. 

Well, that's not true. Because the kid doesn't even think of it as a competition. As soon as the bell rings he does not think about you for the rest of the day. And when he comes to sit back down in your class, he won't remember your epic struggle at all. So, knowing that, are you really going to stress about how he is out to ruin your lesson? Are you going to build up a family feud that will last a lifetime? Grow up. You're an adult. He's a kid. Do your job to the best of your abilities and check your negative emotion at the door. Be a professional.


Debi: How come you never learned that it was wrong? That there are certain things you do not do, you do not do in a civilized society?

Marty: Which civilizations are we talking about?

Debi: Oh, shut up!

Marty: I mean, history...

Debi: Shut up!

Man, some kids never learn the right way to do things, do they? Like putting up their hands, or not  whispering the answer to their friend loudly so everyone knows they are the smartest person in the room. Like, not wanting to hug your leg when you walk through their kindy classroom? Like, not sleeping at the start of a lesson? Well, a lttle empathy here wouldn't hurt. Kindy kids like hugging people. Teenagers like to sleep. Smartarses like to shout out the answer. You cannot control everything in your classroom and trying to do so will make you super unfriendly in the kids' eyes, which makes your life harder, and it will make you more stressed which will make your kids' lives harder. Take a breath, be easy, be cool, be a fucking professional.

Martin Q. Blank: It's a poem? See, that's the problem... express yourself, Bob! Go for it.

Bob: "When I feel... quiet... when... I feel... blue..."

Martin Q. Blank: You know, I think that is *terrific*, what you have right there. Really, I liked it, a lot. I wouldn't sell the dealership or anything but, I'm tellin' ya... it's intense!

Bob: There's... more.

Martin Q. Blank: Okay, would ya mind, just skip to the end.

Whoops! Martin displaying a fail here. Teachers, your kid is opening up to you about someting they do in their private time. How about you don't belittle or ignore it. Some kids really want a mentor, an adult they can be themselves with. If they decide it is going to be you and you are seriously not honoured by that, I seriously question your motives for being a teacher. You're there to do your job, to be a role model. Do your job. Be a professional.


Debi: You're a fucking *psycho*.

Marty: Don't rush to judgment on something like that until all the facts are in.


Covered this thought process before in the earlier post but it is sooooo valid. We love to compartmentalize our students into good, bad, ugly, questionable meat etc, but let's just remember everyone has the capapcity to have a complex character, or at least a character with the ability to change their mood and personality. Psychos can be heroes on any given Monday. Princesses can be Alien Queens. Also,sidenote, if you are teaching eleven to thirteen years olds, the puberty is a nightmare for a teacher. You will ask yourself why is my student suddenly so truculent? She used to be such a darling! Hormones are a bitch. Just keep doing your job. Be a professional.

Bob: You wanna do some blow?

Martin Q. Blank: No I don't.

Don't do drugs. You're in a country that apparently loves to send foreigners to jail for doing drugs. Don't do drugs. Also, on a more important note, students love their downtime between classes. It can be tempting to join in and play with them  before you do, ask yourself if they should be playing this game on the school premises and whether you joining in is a wise career decision. Yes, middle schoolers play card games. I think the head teacher may have a problem if he sees you teaching those middle scholers how to three bet the turn in Texas Hold Em. Be a professional.

A Bad Day Spiral.

Some days really suck. You are in the middle of your pay schedule so you do not have a lot of funds and you have far, far too long to the next pay cheque. You know you should not be living pay cheque to pay cheque and you castigate yourself over that because you are not the offspring of your responsible parents.  You are halfway through the teaching schedule for Winter Camp and the combination of sleep deprivation, mismanaged course schedules and kids high on life has you going slightly crazy.  And you have other shit going on. Deep, mysterious shit no one else could possibly understand nor process more successfully than you.

Life is super tough.

You go through the day picking at all the things going wrong for you. The bus did not wait for you. You were too heavy for the building lift and were unceremoniously kicked out by a grumpy ajumma. Your co worker is all sweetness and light then tells you she wants you to make a test for the class in the enxt ten minutes. Your phone falls into a cup of coffee. A kid kicks you in the shins. The subway charges your passcard twice for the same journey. Your friends and family seem to have got their entire act together and you don't even know your lines half the time. People getting engaged, married, having kids, buying houses, being *successful*. And you are not.

Well now hang on a minute.

You have a job. You have a house. You are eminently employable. You have friends. You have family. You have food in the fridge. You have clothes. You have heating and light. You're not doing too bad.

This day is like any other. Yes, some bad stuff happened. You missed that bus but another one will come along soon. Your co worker may have trouble explaining when you have to do things. Your levels of preparedness are increasing even as we speak and you certainly should not get stressed over their mistake. Yes, Winter Camp is hard for some people. Yes, Mid month is  shitty time, especially after Xmas and New Year's.  But you are going to make it. You always do.

I have a busted knee and thought I was going to have no way of paying for it. My school has since set me up with insurance and I have a charitable benfactor to help me out. My school has been super lovely to me and it is going to all work out. Something happens. Don't get me wrong. Sometimes, that thing has to be from you, and that is the hardest thing. Digging deep, finding the energy to fix your situation. Finding the ability to ask for help when you normally would not. FInding the skill to act indepeneedntly when you normally wouldn't.

However, your problem is solved, you know it will not be the end of your world. It will, in time, be a footnote. So do not let it get you down. This, like eveyrthing else, will pass.

But seriously, some days really do suck.

On the subway, on the bus, we ride the journey of missed opportunity.

I'm a foreigner in a Korean city who spends two hours every day on public transportation. As soon as I sit down on a subway the whole bank of seats becomes clear within three stops.  I reckon I could clear a whole carriage if I stayed on the subway long enough.  It is the same on the bus.  Every other seat could be occupied and people would rather stand in increasingly more confining spaces than be sat next to me.  

Somewhere on here, there's a space next to me.  

This is surely a missed opportunity.  Koreans spend lots of money on their English education. Talking to me is a free English lesson.  I'm happy to respond to anyone asking me questions.  Hell, they can even ask me questions about places I've been and things I've seen.  I'm a dictionary, a travel guide and Wikipedia all rolled into one.  I'm the freaking Internet with a smile and minus the virus.  I would also like to meet new people and give what Tyler Durden refers to as 'single serving' friends.  

"Oh no, you didn't just use a 14 year old reference!"

Although, lets be honest, that doesn't always apply to me.  Sometimes I do want to be left alone.  Sometimes I want to just stare out of the window and think deep thoughts, normally what I want to eat, where I want to eat it, and how quickly I wish that to happen.  Sometimes I want to not talk to a stranger.  It's nothing personal. I mean it can't be;you're a stranger. It's not like celebrities are clamoring for my attention on public transport. 

Rihanna may be a multitalented entertainer with millions in the bank, but all she really wants is to talk to you, then take your seat. Stay back, Rihanna!   

If only there was a simple way to let people know that you're approachable.  Students have traffic light parties where the choice of colour worn indicated their level of sexual availability.  Perhaps something could be worn by people who want to have conversations on public transport on buses.  Some bright orange armband.  Then other people wearing the same armband could recognize a kindred spirit and join them.  No, wait. I see what I've done here. That's Jews and homosexuals  in Nazi germany.  Damn.  

               I'm an idiot, sometimes.    

The fact is we are all social creatures living in an increasingly sociable sterile environment.  I can say this knowing those hermits who wish to argue with me would be, by their very actions, acting sociable.  Sociable and ornery, certainly, but still sociable. Maybe we should accept that and turn round to the person next to you and say 'hey'. Maybe when the person next to you says 'hello', say hello back. You may find you have a lot in common.  I'm sat next to a woman right now as I'm typing this.  I know she keeps looking over my shoulder and is reading this.  I just looked over at her after I typed that and she closed her yes, feigning sleep.  Don't fake a coma, lil' lady. Point out my typos and tell me what you think.  Nope.  She is actually asleep.  Bad example.  

There were clues.  

Be excellent to one another. Chicks dig scars.  Movie quotes starring Keanu Reeves aside, they have wonderful points.  I am here to show you guys that are inching your way on the freeways in your  metal coffins that the human sprit is still alive. 

'Dude, I'm not doing the Point Break remake. Patrick Swayze's dead now. Show some respect.'

Your public transport journey is a part of your life.  Get busy living.  Or do the other thing. 

The Day Daegu Went To The Races

Another successful Saturday night.Your usual mix of drinks, fights, hugs, tears and laughter.

But that's another story.  I absentmindedly put the soccer player's jockstrap off my head and into my top shirt pocket. Again, that's another story. 

Yes, like a handkerchief.

I went to the taxi rank and stood in the organized line. We all dutifully waited our turn. Ha, how weird would that be! It wasn't a particularly memorable taxi-line fight. I held my end up but I felt the other participants were lacklustre at best. So after clotheslining the woman in the improbably high miniskirt I was free to choose my ride home. Her gurgled response from the bloodied Tarmac seemed to say 'You were right David.  These clothes were unsuitable to win a taxi fight.' I nodded to her, accepting her acceptance, and opened the taxi door.  That's when it all went wrong. 

The cab driver was listening intently to his cb. It was odd.  The guy was not watching TV.  He was not listening to Korean Traditional Trot. My ears thanked him. He seemed almost nervous. No, scratch that. He was anticipatory. Like a rapist watching a roofied victim slowly become relaxed, he seemed to be biding his time. I have ssen that look before. Whatever, I don't care. The dreams are fading and my music teacher still writes to me from prison.  Now who's crying?

Hopefully, Djokovic again.Come on, Murray!  Tennis, that's a real sport. LOL.

 I just wanted to go home.  I told him  where I lived in my perfect cabnbeerean.  Nothing.  I repeated myself, figuring he was one of those cabbies who needed repetitions.  Nothing. Suddenly the cb went off.  I would not normally notice except my drunken ability to understand Korean had somehow ameliorated to outstanding.  I understood everything being said. 

"Drivers to the start line. We got a race." The cab started. I was pushed back by the force into the seat. The bucket seat. Something was off. I looked around the inside of the cab. It was very bright.  J.J.Abrams would have been blinded by this lens flare. What the hell was going on?

The inside of the cab was not THAT different by Korean standards.

The cab drove through to the Kyoungpook Uni HospitalSubway  crossroads. The police had lined up the road for their night time drinks checks. Only.. Some cars were just waiting there.  And they were not your average Sonatas or Matizes.

Also, it appears they are on fire.

And one of the policeman looked oddly familiar. 

No way.

Best. Photoshop. Ever.

 It was then I also noticed something about my cabbie. It was not that he was lacking in Korean features. It was that he was overcompensating by having all kinds of Bro. There was so much Bro coming off this dude, I felt the sweaty strangulation of a thousand polo neck shirts being worn at once.  I looked across the way. There were signs this was not going to be your usual ride home.

The rules were simple. There were no rules. The other rules were: you had to get your fare home and back again. I laughed at this. I lived so close my boy just had to win.

"Hey man, what's your name?" I asked him.

"Pau - I mean, Brian. Brian Pillbox. Or something."  I was impressed with his ability to remember almost half his name.

"Brian, I live literally just down the road. You cannot lose."

"Oh man, That's what Liddy said. Then she died and came back to life."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what a Liddy is. I'm an English teacher. I use real words."

The next rule according to the ludicrously afroed policeman : go to the 24 hour burger King drive thru and collect whatever the fare wanted to eat.


"Dude, That's awesome. I want a double whopper no cheese, chicken royale, fuck it, I'll have a Royal Box. And a Coke  Zero."

Zero times any number equals zero. That's why I don't put on weight.

"No, you'll get a hamburger. A generic hamburger. Our shoot cannot afford to pay our sponsors."

 "BriPaul, I don't think that's how sponsorship works. And you say 'shoot', like this is a movie. Is this a movie? Am I going to be on Korean television every day for the next four months?"

"Shut up, just let me drive."

"Okay, but I do want a whopper."

"I told you! Generic names only!"

"Okay I'll eat a Biggie. Is that racist?"

"I honestly don't know what is racist anymore. I race against latinos, blacks and asians and I always seem to win. That can't be right, can it? I mean, the Law of Large Numbers would dictate I would lose eventually. But no, the white man is superior in every race. What's that all about? And I only lose to some guy whose ethnic background is so unknown, his DNA is probably some kind of pumped up quadruple Helix*."

Honestly, this may have been the most words that Paul Walker has ever said in a row. and I had to make it all up for it to happen.**

"Okay, well some kind of a large burger, then."

But seriously, I was hungry.

I'm just saying, this is the driver for fatties.

The cars lined up and we got ready to go. Man, I regretted winning that Taxi Line FIght...

TO BE CONTINUED

  *

Obligatory pic of the Deezer. "What is it Precious, WHAT IS IT?"

**Also, not to take away from the moment, but how funny was it to have his dopey bro accent say "Quadruple Helix'?

Thoughts inside my student's head

"Good afternoon teacher!"

Oh man, I hate myself.  I am such a phony.  Every single way that statement could be taken is a lie.  I'm not having a good afternoon at all. I wish I could just be honest with him.  Oh no, he's asking what day is it today. I don't know, David Teacher, if that's even your real name. I DON'T KNOW.  I know it's a simple exercise. I get what you're saying. Please don't repeat the question.  Everyone's staring at me.  I have been up since five this morning just crushing my brain with endless lists and rote repetition. I don't even know what ideas are my own and what has been implanted. Now you want me to bring in sequential time period ordering?  You're an asshole.  Okay, calm down. It's either a Tuesday or a Friday.  Today, Mom cried over her rice because the Soju had not been cleared up. Friday then. 

"Friday, teacher."

Yeah, yeah yeah. Don't you give me your bullshit congratulations.  Just walk on, fat man.  Oh man, what time is it? It must be time to go home soon.  Forty three more minutes?! Noooooooo!  This can't be right.  It might not be.  The clock looks blurry.  Hell, everything looks blurry. Four hours sleep a day makes light tracers around everything.  Soooo pretty.  

Homework time, huh? You are one sick bastard, David "teacher". It's one thing to make me listen to your voice on MY computer in MY house during MY time.  It's messed up that you're talking about things you like to do in your free time. I accept you are all about the cruel and unusual.  But making me mark my own work in class? You're a dick, dude.  Straight up douchenozzle. So no, no I will not call out the answers with you.  This is not a game. This is not a team sport. 'We' are not a team.  You are not my captain.  You're the enemy. I'd kill you if I thought you had a soul.  

Oh thank whatever religion my parents are into.  It's over.  Now we just have to relax and wait for the bell to... Thirty five more minutes!? How did this not end? Why does Time and Space hate me so much? 

Okay. This is awkward.  Polar Bear Teacher is looking at me and smiling.  What do you want, you foreigner? Wow, am I ... Racist.  Nononono, I can't be. I'm Korean.  Koreans can't be racist. That's just good science. What does he want?  I will express my confusion at the situation and ask if be could repeat the question.  

"Teacher?"

Nailed it.  He's talking again. Gah.  This guy and his words.  Read the passage? What passage,dude?  I don't even have my book open. Do I have my book? Yes, there it is.   Time to look industrious.  Open the book and we're turning pages and we're turning pages and there's the last page and we're turning back and we're turning back and we're looking at my neighbor's book and we're turning to that page and done. Made it. How do you like them apples, huh, teacher? Huh? On the right page and everything.  

What? You want me to read now? I just turned to the right page. Fine.  Work me to death.  Come on neighbor point to where we are.  Dependable neighbor. Ok' Reliable. I hate you, neighbor.  

"Before bed, he enjoys taking a stroll, reading a book and watching television."

What the hell am I reading? Seriously, what are we reading? Is the teacher self promoting? Well done for having so much time free to walk around, read a book and watch TV.  You have us in a classroom, it's a beautiful day and boasting about how awesome your life is.  That's bullshit.  And everyone else is just reading it?  Open your eyes, people! He's  toying with us!  

Oh, a question to answer. What would you like to do in your free time? Pretty ignorant question if you ask me.  Which you did. Man, that answer space looks huge. What is that four, five lines?  Hang on, would.   I see. They are asking what would I do if had free time? Well, at least they acknowledge I have no free time.  That's something.  Man what would I do?  If i had free time? That's  a huge question.  Fly a dragon right into this academy, have my reptile monster tear you limb from limb, teacher.  Eat an ice cream as my neighbor screamed and laugh as his face was covered in filthy foreigner blood.  Invent a time in the day when everyone has to stop moving and just hum and the whole world joins in and the sound leaves the atmosphere and aliens hear us and realize that finally, true human unification has occurred and we are ready for them to give us the next evolutionary leap.  Sigh. Express that in four or five lines.  Unlikely. Here we go.  Yeah.  That will work.  Fat Boy Teacher is looking at you. He must want your answer.  

"Sleep."

Good enough. 

Man, I sure hope life after kindergarten gets easier.  

Phone Noir

Phone Noir.

The day began as ever, with hazy recollection of the night before.There had been Soju.  I knew that.  There had been shouting and finger pointing.  There was always those things with Soju.  

There had been boasting.  Manly boasting.  Big man boasting.  Anthony talking about his big brown beauty.  Nick talking about his woman and how they liked playing with her magic hole.  Jeremy and how his could light up his whole life. And I was jealous, gorram it.  Jealous like a fox.  And I said the stupidest thing ever.

"Fine.  I'll get a phone as well."

I swore I would never get a phone again, not after last time. I swore I would never go back.  I made a promise to myself, to my lady... Damn. 
 She might leave me if I got back into that world.  I walked away from all of that.  And now I was going to go back into the Lion's Den.  

I scribbled a note. "Gone shopping. Back soon."  The sin of omission weighed heavy like an Eskimo woman's nipple in the dead of winter. I pulled out my bag and felt the cold steel inside. History repeating.  I strapped the holster and checked my magazines were still oiled. 

I hate shopping for phones. 

I walked to SK towers.  I hoped I could avoid seeing him. There was enough blood poured on the pavement every day.  I did not want to add to it, one way or the other. The towers had three phone shops.  Get in, get the phone get out. Avoid the smartphones.  Avoid the contracts. Avoid getting contracted.  Avoid him. But the world has spun. The corner qook store, deserted.  The subway KTF, nothing more than whitewashed windows. The roadside LG, nothing but a pair of massage chairs left in the place. Someone had squealed. Someone ratted me out.



He knew I was coming.  He knew I was coming for a phone. 

I tried. I went to Beomeo.  I wanted to not go to that place again. I would do anything to avoid that place. I could not risk letting my inner beast unleash. I went to Dunkin and got my Cuppa Joe and a cream cheese beigel.  The girl seemed so innocent. 

"Do you know where I could buy a phone around here?"

"Oh no, sorry.  No phone stores here, David."

She knew my name.  Dammit! I felt a cold sweat, I wanted to pull the piece there and then and let hellfire take us all.  Get a grip. That's what he wants you to do.  I smiled and walked away. I looked next door where the Olleh Superstore put paid to her lies, put the punch line to his joke. 

Well, shit, two can play this game. 

I walked into the superstore and walked up to the prepay counter. The two salesmen looked at me uneasily. I looked at them hard and long like something pornographic. I sauntered over to one of the plastic desks and sat down.  I slowly ate my beigel letting crumbs fall on their floor. They looked at the floor, the ceiling, one of them even started to gorram dust the counter.  I chewed my last mouthful then stood up suddenly. They dove behind the counter. Pussies. Then again, this was never in their pay grade. They thought it would all be shiny suits and grabbing girls off the street. They didn't think I would ever be back. I thought about making an example of them. Then I remembered my mission. I wouldn't have enough bullets as it was. 

I walked to the door , my silhouette fill the room.

"Tell him I'm coming." 

______________________________________________

The subway ride was exactly as expected.  The carriage cleared as I sat down, two ajoshis staring at me from the exits. 


I stared dead ahead. History repeating.  Get the phone.  Get out. No contracts.  No 4G. No more blood than absolutely necessary. Banwoldang music playing like a bagpipe of retribution. I got up and tipped my hat to the old men. They shook their heads in amazement. 

"You crazy bastard, I hope you live," their blank gazes seemed to say.  Up into the sub mart.  Twin Ollehs marked their territory here. I knew it was futile.  I knew it was only sucking time from a vacuum.  I knew I wouldn't just do what he wanted. I walked into one and could feel the eyes from the salesmen from the other store throwing daggers. I knew I couldn't be long. My stoic outward appearance belied the manic laughter in my soul.  The monster was coming out of its cage. I approached the counter. 

"Hi, my son needs a phone.  We're looking for one of them iPhone Sixes with the Darth Vader hyperzoom big screens, bi enough to take a picture of the moon at scale. It's gotta have retina control, remote control, raisin control. You hear me, I want it to control raisins!"

"Um, no English ."

"Sure, I hear ya, I hear ya.  How about one of them satellite phones? I'm talking Vietnam, drop the rain!"

The unmistakable sound of lacquered leather shoes running made me smile at the poor boy. His friends were coming to save him. Only thing, who was going to save them?

I grabbed the boy and dragged him over the counter. I dragged him out to the fountain forecourt and threw him towards his five compadres. They skidded to a stop on the tiled floor. One fell in the fountain. 

"Boys, we can do the easy way or the -" I began. 

They screamed and ran at me. I smiled. Okay then. The really easy way.  

The blood washed well enough away.  The ajummas' screams would take longer. Focus.  Just get the phone. I walked past the police station. They were closed.  Figured. They would not want to get involved in this.  Not on this day.  Not after last time. 

Phone street. Son of a bitch. My own hell cycle.  Shop after shop after shop all run by the man, an army of ill fitting shiny suits and polo shirts.  A cacophony of K-Pop.  They all walked out of their shops and they carried enough to drop King king. All this for little old me. And then he came through them.  

Damn The Man.  He smoked his skinny cigarette like a Korean movie gangster, that is to say, like a geek sucks on a strawberry milkshake. He smiled his oh so cool little smile.  "He thinks he won," I thought.  "He might be right," a thought betrayed. "You're old. You might be too old to do all this again." "Shut up, brain. I have no time for you."

"David, it is good to see old customers again." Strawberry milkshake sucking.  "I thought we agreed it would be better if you didn't come here again. You chose your phone.  How is she?"

I smiled, masking my grimace. Hiding my torment. Stuck in WiFi purgatory, a mask of perfection hiding the grim inoperative reality.  

"I want a phone.  No reason to lose anymore of your boys". 

"We have many fine Korean smartphones.  Pick one. We have great two year contracts. Do you have your alien registry card?"  The Man started to laugh.  His men started to laugh.  Dammit.  The beast was already out. Oh well. 

"I don't want your skinny breakable pieces of shit that last two hours fully charged.  I want a brick. I want a solid piece of European fashion.  I want twelve hours at ten per cent. I want to play Snake and feel the luxury.  I want a gorram Nokia 3210."

The guns slid into my palms and the weight felt so good. 

"And no contracts!"

________________________________________________

....I don't know how much time passed. Hours, minutes, seconds, microns.  All I knew as I limped away blood coagulating around my calf, the smoke tearing my eyes, the screams pinging through my ruptured ear drums, all I knew was this.  

You couldn't change the situation.  This is phone town, Jack.  

But I got my phone.