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.....

The Five Worst Habits I Have Encountered in Korea

I have lived in Korea for the better part of a decade and there are many great things about it. If I didn't like it here, I would have left a long time ago. However, you cannot live in a place without picking up some personal issues, some pet peeves about a place. Ask any group of foreigners to talk about living in Korea and at some point they will have a bitch and moan about the place. Don't worry Koreans. We bitch and moan about our home countries as well.

               The Japanese will not shut up about this guy. We get it. He's annoying.

The five Issues I have chosen are annoyances. They are not major societal issues, such as rampant alcoholism, overt sexism, wife beatings, casual racism or even wilful ignorance of the police to deal with crime. Those would be massive problems. I'm sure glad we don't have to deal with any of THAT.

No, these issues are things that are part of the daily grind, things that really should not cause a facial tic or images of rendering individuals limb from limb dance in front of our eyes. But they do. for example....

Gum Smacking

                                                          Ugh, you are the worst. 

When did this even become a thing? Gum chewers always knew their place in society. Better to be seen and not heard, they were what smokers became to try and better themselves. Instead they learned chewing gum can be a status. A status that can be declared in horrible clarity. Popping gum is the sort of thing that belongs in the fifties, along with segregation and uncomfortable bras.  Even then, it belonged to those girls that wanted to be sexy but we're only ever going to be fourteen when you were eighteen. Why am I seeing , and more importantly, hearing fifty year old women chewing gum? 

The Solution The people who chew gum on the bus seat next to you, mindlessly making that gum snapping sound again and again? They deserve to be reminded how annoying it is. So face them and click your tongue. Click it in time to them chewing their gum. When they stop and stare at you, keep clicking your tongue right at them. Tilt your head and stick it out a little. Click your tongue. Become the stuff of their nightmares. 

Eye Avoidance

If I am taking to you, please be invested in the conversation as much as I am. Don't look at your phone and don't point at something in the sky, then when I look where you're pointing, run away. But most of all, don't look away from me. Korean custom has a person looking away, averting their eyes . Cool. Here's the thing. I would like you to adapt to the situation. I am clearly trying to get eye contact with you. It is clearly important to me. So when you go out of your way to continue ocular avoidance to be respectful, you're actually being disrespectful. Also, let's be honest, this eye avoidance is a crutch to bad behaviour. When a kid acts up in class, then looks away, when an ajosshi overcharges and looks away, when an ajumma runs for a seat, barges you out of the way and looks away, that is not out of respect. That is out of shame. And shame does not cut it for me. I want respect. I. Want. Respect.

The Solution shaving mirrors. One in each hand. Wave them in their eyeline forcing them to look at you. But, take advantage of the sitch. When they look away, Dr on your face. Red lipstick, black kohl, just mess your head up. When they stare into the mirror, they'll see a rainbow night daemon. They'll scream and, hopefully, do something go amusing. Like jump out of the bus window. Bring makeup remover and clean up daintily, staring at the rest of the bus passengers, smiling. Maintain eye contact. 

Littering

        

                                 The man is a super hero and he's struggling. Think of the fish!

I have a friend who is Texan and a liberal. The genetic coding of a man who loves big sky, has weapons knowledge and hates anti environmentalist litterers is a sight to behold in Daegu. He has followed kids who dropped cans and candy wrappers down a street and gave it back to them. It's beautiful, man. Littering is unforgivable, even with the proviso there are no dustbins trash cans anywhere. For a society that realises it has almost no natural resources, it is criminal to take your land and cover it in non-biodegradeable seagull chokers. When I see kids dropping all the wrapping off a triangle gimbal, I want to pick the kid up and throw them into oncoming traffic. That's wrong, of course. Probably. 

The Solution wear an official long outfit, complete with hat and badge. Follow litterers and demand on the spot fines of 20,000 won. When they can't pay ( I'm thinking children here) give them a ticket saying they must attend a court in the next 90 days to explain exactly why they were right to litter. Make sure the ticket has wet ink, so that when they touch it, it gets on their hands and cannot be washed off. Stand there as they realise the situation, then give them a long, slow, thoughtful nod. They'll get it. 

Arm Crossing 

                         

                              Literally the only time I'm happy to see this happen.

To be clear, but this is not folding the arms. This is making an 'X' with your arms as a silent , final way of saying 'No'. You lazy bastards. You can say No. You can be nice about it. I'm not a bloody vampire. I'm a human being. I have demonstrated I speak at least a modicum of Korean. We can have discourse of a sort. You just immediately saying No to a situation, before it has even played out for a second? That's rude, rude in a way that makes French people tap their Gauloises into an ashtray in a thoughtful manner.

The Solution Grab those hands and spin the offending person around, thus forming the first step to a sexy bachata. Break down their lack of communication through the medium of dance. Hold them close, look over your shoulder provocatively, let them know you want them to reconsider selling you that vintage shirt, even though it is clearly too small for your ludicrously portly frame. Spin them with the fiery passion of a person who understands it is a family restaurant but you just want to eat some samgyetang by yourself. 

Infantile Nationalism

    

                                                       Yes, I do. Do you like potatoes?

When I tell my students they can ask me any question, they go for the same things. What is your favourite colour? What is your favourite food? Where do you come from? That's correct, I'm happy with that. My kids have basic vocabularies and are only a few moments removed from mewling shit factories that never sleep. However, adults need to grow their question base. They ask questions like, Do you like Korean food? Do you like Kimchi? Isn't it super hot? The answers to these questions are yes, sometimes, and no. When these questions still come up, I start to feel like there is a Census is going around. Every Korean stranger I have spoken to, the first three things they REALLY want to know are these things. Sure, they'll ask about your age and nationality but they really want to make sure you dig their food. They want you to love it. They want you to be blown away by how awesome Korea is , and their food is the easiest manifestation of that national id. I'm trying to think of one Israeli, one American, one Frenchman, one German, one Englishman, who has been so concerned a stranger to their shores enjoyed their stay.  Koreans are as arrogant as other nationalities; I just feel other nations are more laissez afire with their nationalism. Americans will scream Murrica! At the drop of a hat, but that is mostly tongue in cheek. Americans know their nationalism is silly and infantile , and that knowledge gives them perspective. Can you imagine a Texan asking an Englishman if he likes hamburgers? No, because the Texan would not give a fuck. 

The Solution when asked these questions, cross your arms, look away, chew some gum, and throw the wrapper in the floor. They'll soon get the message and leave you alone.

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.

Expectations of my First Winter Camp

Winter camp! Hey you guys! Winter camp is here! YAY! It's like camp - but in the winter. All those fun activities we are going to do.  All those learning opportunities.  All those memories we're gonna make. 

And the children.  Oh, the children!  They are going to be the most wholesome, leave-it-to-beaver types.  They're gonna be like. "Gee Mister, you're thuper thtrong."   Their lisps are going to be ADORABLE. 

I know it's a little early but that will add to the mystery.  Dunkin Donuts, you're up at this time too? Crazy! Woah, look at everyone else up at this time.  They are goin to be singing and dancing in perfect morning choreography.  It's going to be freaking Mary Poppins in this joint.  

And then the sun will rise and everyone will take a moment to bask in its radiance.  They'll breathe in the low net with eyes closed, standing on their tippy toes and floating in the ever so gentle wind.  Is this perfection? They'll wonder.  No, their inner reflection will reply.  This is Winter Camp.  

Flow

My friend read one of my blog entries the other day and said he liked it.  Being the ego whore that I am, I asked to hear more. "It was good because it felt natural.  It felt earnest. It felt like your weren't forcing it.  Sometimes when you write , I think you're trying too hard."  Aside from being an abject lesson as to why you should not pursue compliments, it raised some points.  

I can accept I am a writer. I have been published in different formats and to varying( read, middling) levels of success. I used to say I was an aspiring author until my beautiful lady pointed out my former academy has published ten and plans  to publish over sixty more of my short stories. So this is a thing for me. It is not a hobby nor an interest.  It is not a job although I occasionally get paid.  Even if the payment is drinks coupons at a rainy beach party or a discount on sausages.  Having the ability to write and know that that will pay the rent and put mythical children through college would be nice. Then again, so would 'lottery winner' and I do believe there is a comparable amount of luck to both gigs.  

Now this is where some people disagree because they think you can work at your writing.  To some degree they have a point.  Salman Rushdie says to aspiring writers (and therefore not me, clearly) to treat writing like any other job.  You sit at your desk from nine to five and DO YOUR JOB.  The more you do anything, the better you get at it. My friend from the beginning of this article likes to punch and kick things. He's not a crazy homeless man. He is a martial artist.  He says muscle memory requires doing the same thing ten thousand times.  I have not written ten thousand notes.  I've barely written 'the' ten thousand times. Clearly working at your passion improves your appreciation of and your ability within said passion. 

So where does this friend get off talking about trying too hard?  He must be taking about letting my writing flow naturally.  To have an idea and to express it easily.  How lovely! What a wonderful notion, to take any opportunity and any subject and just be able to expound effortlessly.  Sometimes of course that's not possible. 

Everything is hard to everyone all the time. I am going to disregard the babies who can shoot three pointers or mathematical geniuses.  They're genetic freaks, so far outside the norm as opposed to be needing to be shunned by the norm.  I love those guys but they're not you or me. Everything is hard to everyone all the time. My friend, who I realize is taking a few too many rides on the example train, may be great at getting someone to tap out.  It does not mean he can do it without exerting himself, without thinking it through, without accepting and working through the problem. 

So when I write, occasionally  I'm blessed with a revelation. Awesome! Now I have  writing fervour.  Sometimes something interesting happens. Cool. I have a fun story to embellish.  WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF THE TIME? I have to write about something! I have to make it witty! I have to be socially relevant! By writing more and more, I can write more and more. I am not alone in this process. Runners love being able to push themselves further in more torrid circumstances. Painters live for creating 'their best works yet'. Both do not come overnight.  They come through many, many hours of suffering and torment.  

So, I say to my friend and I say to you.  Yes, sometimes my writing will stink.  Sometimes it'll jar and you'll want to give up on me.  Sometimes you'll want to compare my writing to shoving a stick up your arse, dipping it in tar and then spreading it on the wall. Recognize that it's all part of a larger process to self improvement.  Believe that one day, something amazing will come out of it. Then recognize that within your own struggles in your own passion.  

The Lamest Addiction

I have a problem.  I gamble too much.  It's been debilitating and its nearly ended my relationship with the woman I love. Friends are surprised she stayed with me; many have confessed to her that they wouldn't.  Thank you for the support guys.  

I have not gambled now for 100 days. It is a big deal for me.  I am slowly changing the algorithm on my YouTube preferences from wsop poker show reruns to Tales from the River Cottage cooking shows.  My nights end with TV shows, not free roll tourneys.  My life is more boring yet a lot more fulfilling.  

My friends have been supportive. They are completely against me gambling, except of course, for some gamblers.  However their support structure has shown me something key.  

Gambling is not a sexy addiction.  

When I tell people I stopped gambling, the overwhelming response was 'good! Gambling's stupid, pass the chicken.' My friends eat a lot of chicken.  

Imagine that response if I said I had an addiction to crack.  'Yeah, yeah, whatever, crack.  Shut up and pass the lamb chops.'   In this alterniverse my friends dig lamb. 

It's the Assumption I'm alright. The assumption that a decision has been made and that everything is done with.  You wouldn't think that of an alcoholic or a smoker.  You wouldn't think a meth head will be fine to be left alone with cash on a Friday night and make responsible decisions. 

So why is gambling put in this boat?  It's not sexy.  It's not substance abuse.  It doesn't damage your body, unless you count pulling all nighters at the casino as a thing.  It's a dude losing his money.  It's silly, it's harmless, it's fun.  

It's sporting.  Poker made a bid to be counted in the next Olympics which is o course hilarious.  But TV spots and sporting personality sponsorship deals has conferred a legitimacy to a game where statistically, 98% of online cash belongs in 1% of the players' pockets.  

It's a dream.  Getting something for nothing. And yes, most players are out for a jolly good time and they know they are never going to land a big score, they know they will probably dust off their cash in their wallet. But there's the thought of five 7s lining up, of hitting pocket jacks on flopped trip aces and winning a Bad Beat Jackpot, of winning it all.  

So when you tell these people you're not good with gambling, that you have a problem with it, they see it skewed.  They see it through their eyes.  They think you had a bad run, or are having gambler's remorse.  The fact is, I could go on a winning spree online playing tournaments and not sleep until the cash games took it all away again.  

My friends think I'm 'good' at poker. Some of them think I'm 'bad' at poker.  I think cards and chips mean nothing to me at the table. It is purely the rush of playing.  It's all I crave and win or lose, I want more and more.  

One drink is anathema to alcoholics, one more hit a bullshit line for a crackhead. So when I say to my friends I quit gambling, why do they ask me when the next game is? Keeping lighters in the house can be all a smoker needs to start up again, why are my friends chatting about their winning sessions in the casino to me? 

I thank everyone for the support. Lets keep this train rolling.  By the way, wsop started again this year.  I am not watching it. I'm not listening to the four different podcasts available for it.  Poker rats and full tilt remain off my computer and iPhone.  My wsop cigar ashtray has mysteriously disappeared and my friend's poker chips are with another friend.  

I'll probably slip at some point.  That's statistics.  But until I do, I'll just keep playing games of crazy eights, asshole, beer pong and of course Ne'er Ever have I ever. 

 Peace.  

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'?

Email Transcripts Between A Robot and its New Hagwan Boss

Do's and Don't Of Summertime

When contemplating the summertime, people in Korea relish the opportunity to, you know, really do something with their weekends. And when it comes to weekend activities Korea is Instagrammingly awesome.  As ever, with these moments there is a right way and a wrong way.  And, as ever, I have lists these impeccably.  Honestly, at this stage of the game I am nailing it harder than a hammer. A Hebrew Hammer, if you will.

Ha, remember when I did sports? No, me neither.

Going to a Sports Event

Do -  at this stage all the ex pat leagues have shut down, are shutting down or should be shut down.  Not permanently guys, just until next season. Luckily Daegu's bevy of sports franchises mean you can go to a game and watch professionals play the game you play, albeit with maybe a little less style or alcohol.

Unless this guy comes back from the dead.

Me and my friends.

An action shot of said sporting event.

Book your seats in advance, budget time and money, and you are almost guaranteed great memories that will be best expressed by facebooking endless photos of you and your friends' faces in some kind of stadium over and over and over again. Make sure to include one fuzzy image of said sportsman doing nothing in particular.  Now all your friends will be jealous.  

Don't- As  far as you are concerned, these overpaid hacks are embarrassing the noble game of baskbaseultisoftballs you have been championing for the last however many Sundays it took for you to lose in the first round playoffs to that bullshit team made up of probable semi pros who grew up together inventing the game.

Cue a joke about Chris Keeler and Paul Groba getting angry.

 As your combination of rage, depression, loss and sense of victimization swirl together in a cocktail of sweaty shitty beer and sweatier, shittier soju, remember this.  You are a paying fan, and paying fans are expected, nay obligated to tell players how, why and when they suck. Combine this with good acoustics, lack of English being spoken and small crowd turnout, you can really get inside that foreign player's head. Take the time to google everything about him and remind him of his failures as a husband/lover/student/mariachi, as well as reminding him his career has almost certainly not ended up the way he hoped.   The tears, they will taste so good.

So, so good.

Hiking - 

Do- check the weather on this one. Dress appropriately. Bear in mind snakes happen after rain.  I assume because the raindrops allow them to go freestyling down the slopes.  I don't know.  I hate snakes.

Look at that evil bastard.

Anyway, go early, so you really enjoy those views of tiny cities, or farmland.  Take photos, to prove you are totally into this thing.  Health, or whatever.  I don't know. Health, snakes, same same. Make sure you see that giant Buddha/stone/monastery.  Yep, holy introverts went out of their way to plant that shit right out if the way.  So you better find them and take pics. Holy pics.

"Seriously, is this guy just going film us praying? Because I need to fart and the bubbles are bad enough...."

 Oh, and take food and drink.  Do not be the guy in the group who 'forgets' and makes everyone give one bite of their food.  It is awkward for everyone.  I apologize again to the Apsan Tour of 2011. 

Don't -  This hiking seems to be like walking. Walking upwards through trees.  It doesn't seem that hard.  Step things up a notch.  Get to the mountain a day earlier than everyone else. As we all know, hiking is strictly set between certain hours probably.  Rig the mountain with just the right amount of landmines. Pay one class of middle school children to don war paint and teach them how to use bows and arrows.

Obviously not this bitch. She just hides. Like a bitch.

Release a crazy dude with a chainsaw and a motion tracker.  Any of these are good. However, whatever you do, wait until your friends are halfway up before you tell them your game changing plan. At the end of the day, as you shiver in a combination of fear and exposure, hiding next to the last monk standing in the shell of a burned out monastery, remember this.  It's not hiking if no-one dies.  I learned that from Predator. 

Should have stayed in Office, Dude-anator.

Going to Seoul 

Do - Don't.  

Don't - Do. 

You're welcome.

Enjoying Some Culture

Do - oh my days, Korea is full of culture.  And I'm not talking that Frasier Crane, sniff but don't swallow malarkey either.im talking soju wine tasting, bull fighting, herbs and medicine, mask making hootenannies.  I'm just saying rednecks and Koreans are probably related. And doing each other
 

Pictured, Evidence.

.  Enjoy doing the cheesy, rural bumpkin stuff. What are you, too good for a hay cart ride? You're probably from London, aren't you?  Or New York.  Or somewhere else where your heart has died. Well, compare fifteen different ginseng infusions and tell me your soul did not just leap up for joy.  

Every single person in this pic is living the dream, people.

Don't - approach Korean culture the same way you approach a crazy old lady. Open arms, smiling, yet be cautiously aware she could have a brick in her handbag. In fact, approach like you ARE a crazy old lady.  

Nailed it. And by it, I mean two out of three of these got some Hebrew Hammering. The chick said no.

These ladies seem to get deals and discounts and front of the line privileges.  I say dress up like one and enjoy your day out, first class Gangnam style. A moment for my writing as I reference such clichéd tedium. Allow your inner ajumma out.  Elbow anyone you like, especially, and this is the best part, other ajummas.

AJUMMA FIGHT! My money is on the garishly dressed one.

Get first dibs on the fairground rides. Refuse to pay for anything shouting "He stole my money!" and point at literally anyone. Finally, insist on getting someone else to give up their seat.  In the bathroom.  

ENJOY YOUR SUMMER!

Why I don't like going in the ocean anymore

A standard frolicking on the beach involves me staying well away from the water's edge.  I can never go back into the ocean again.  

Last time I went in there, it was pretty scary.  Damn shark came at me.  Big shark.  Shark had teeth.  Luckily I had seen Tomb Raider 2, so I knew how to be sexy enough for it to think I was Jon Voight's daughter.  After that, I relied on its good filmic knowledge to recognize a Hollywood legacy. The shark had seen The Karate Dog.  Revenge was all it wanted.  

To be fair the last good film Voight was involved with was Holes and that was ten years ago and how old do you feel?

It opened its massive jaws. I grabbed the top mandible forgetting about physics,particularly the one about how sharks going forward and moving forces things through its mouth.   As my body was dragged into the gaping maw my feet found purchase on its infinite rows of serrated teeth.  My corns thanked me sarcastically. Pushing off with feet belonging on a Die Hard set I lifted myself out as the jaws came down and we broke the surface.  I could hear screaming.  It had too much bass to be my own I reasoned so I must still be in the game. I looped over the nose of the behemoth and rode it like like a monkey on a broomstick.  I could see it was taking me to shore. That was its first mistake. Shore meant land and land sharks were not a thing.  I laughed at it. 

"You stupid shark, I will crush you," I thought, as the remains of my urine soaked its right eye.  

             Seriously, everyone does it.  

We both hit the beach at the same time and suddenly I was a flying eagle.  Then, just as suddenly, I was a retarded turtle wedged into the sand. The shark bounced up the beach.  My brain went into committee mode, arguing the philosophical ramifications of this. 

"Did you see that?"

"Did you know it could do that?"

"That's not even a thing!"

"It's a thing! It's a thing happening right now!"

"Listen, I studied at some if the finest universities in the world-"

"Ooooh, you big liar, you...hang on, It's about to land on you."

            Like this. Only on a beach. 

The thought was right. About me not studying and about the shark. I rolled over, partly to survive and partly to show what the shark was missing out on. I do have some lovely man meat. I'm fat, is what I'm saying.  The shark landed on the sand and fixed its one good eye on me balefully. The other eye had gone the way of Ammonia. G-d bless nitrogenous waste products and the micturative process. Hmmmm, maybe I did study a little.

                  "My eye! Why?"  

      "Because, shark, you are a shark."

I stared down the shark.  It was not impressed. It bounced again, another twenty foot front drop that BAGA trampolinists could only dream of.  I scrambled to my feet and waited for its fall.  I had one shot.  I prepared my deadly Muay Thai kick.  The one move I ever did right at Fight club.  A monstrous affair, combining science and joy with generous seasonings of rage and frustration.  

"This is for my prom, Andrew Fletcher" I whispered.

   I waited all night for you to pick me up. 

  As the shark came down I brought my leg perfectly into its eye and kicked through the animal's skull. The animal spun backwards and fell, never to rise again.  

So, apparently, it's really easy to confuse a land shark with a helpful dolphin.  Also, I've been banned from going in the ocean ever again. 

THE END

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.