Ten Cab Drivers I Have Met in Daegu

The Tic

You get in the cab, and he nods at you and drives on. He nods at the destination given. He nods at the direction given. Then he nods at a passing car. Then you start paying closer attention. This guy is not nodding, he is juddering. He is trembling. He is the Personnification of Parkinson's, and you are paying him to drive in the road. You butt cheeks tighten to Spanish Inquizition Clamping levels and you reflect on your life up until now. If you arrive alive, your hand is trembling almost as much as his when paying. Almost.

How to Deal With it- Get your seat belt on! Choose routes with minimal turns. Get out early. Reflect upon an economic system that has the elderly and infirm forced to work themselves to death.

The Hater

You get in the cab and they decide immediately there is a blood feud to settle. They seethe, they mutter, they hunch their shoulders. They listen to your destination with the kind of aggressive dismissal normally only associated with nerds learning you don't know the names of the robots in Star Wars. They take your fare ,never maintaining eye contact and if you try to hold them in conversation, even in poifect Korean, they will pretend something way more interesting is happening out of their side window.

How to deal with it: Talk. Talk all the time, in English, brightly commenting on everything that you see, comparing it to other things you. That white car is like that other white car but it's not quite the same, right? Those traffic lights are sometimes red, but sometimes green, but it doesn't really matter, right? RIGHT? Smile at him the whole time. Engage . Engage. Engage. 

The Misogynist

Getting in the cab with your female friend (you're a dude in this situation) she tells the cabbie the destination. He doesn't respond. She repeats her phrasing and there is no respons . Puzzled, you try. He responds with alacrity. He does not acknowledge the woman's presence. He jeers at women drivers. His actions make you want to apologise for men everywhere to your lady friend.

How to deal with it: guys, Come onto him. If he really only likes men, let him realise what that ultimately entails. If he reciprocates, you're in a game of Gay Chicken and you're in it to win it, Dagnamit.

The Creeper

You get in the cab, sitting in the front seat. On your journey you come to a red light. The cabbie looks at you for the first time. He looks you up and down, slowly taking you all in like a pedophile using a 28.8 modem. He leers at you. He asks if you're Russian. He admires your legs. He strokes and paws your leg. By the way, this is whether you are make or female. 

How do you deal with it: slaps, getting out without paying, photos of car licenses. No jokes, just sue the ever loving fuck out of that guy. Fuck that guy. 

The Repeater

You get in the cab and tell him you want to go to the Novotel. "Novotel?" He repeats, as he turns on the meter. "Novotel," you repeat staring at the meter drops down its initial timer. "Novotel," he repeats wonderingly, marvelling at the sound of those three syllables being used in conjunction for the first time. You say the same sentence inflicting every syllable in a different manner again and again, hoping to crack the codex that is this this cabbie's eardrum. The meter has lost half its initial 2800 value, then the cabbie has a language epiphany. "Oh noVOtel." Yeah , noVOtel . You dick.

How to handle it. Stop the meter. Push that button. It's amazing how much quicker language is learned when there is no incentive to do otherwise. Less dickish would be to bring written korean phrases. Being dickish again, would mean using supersize placards.

The Double Time 

When I talk to a person, and they don't respond I don't normally say it again. When I am forced to repeat myself to a cabbie. It is annoying.  When I try to engage them in conversation, and realise they only understand the second time I say something to them? Bewildering. I lapse into silence and stare out the window like some Fucking French movie.

How to deal with it. Say everything in threes. He won't know what's going on. Slowly his brain will fuse and the car will crash, exploding, ending both your lives on a rainy Tuesday. Ah, how like life. <inhales Gauloises>

The Stoner

This cabbie doesn't go more than forty km/h, and keeps turning round to look at you and smile beatifically. They'll ask all the usual questions about where I'm from and whether or not I like kimchi, but man, they really love your answer. Giggling to themselves, playing with the various electronic doodads, then turning to lok at you or slyly staring at you through the rear view mirror. Man, they are on some good shit. 

How to deal with it- dude, you know, like, the dude abides, man. Just RELAX! Ask some pretty deep questions. Assume their korean answers are exactly what you were thinking , man.

The Coolest

The unicorn of cabbies. Someone who is totes on your wavelength, speaks your language , is in the mood to discuss politics or sports, or music, or whatever the fuck you're into, and you just engage. This is what ex-pat living is about , man. Connection. Sorry, I'm still high for the Stoner. Also, their driving is impeccable, not just in terms of the Highway Cide. You wanted a fast cab, you got it. You wanted a safe cab, you got it. This cab is your heart's desire.

How to Deal with it- sad cowboy songs, a bar of chocolate, a pizza, old friends reruns. Breakups are bad, even when they are mutual and the relationship was only a cab ride long. Staring at the selfie you took of him and you together will only prolong the agony. Goodbye, sweet prince.

The Boy Race

You're in a rush so you say to the cabbie "BALI!BALI! BALI!" He turns to you and grins. He leans over to the glovebox and pulls out actual racing gloves. He puts them on reverently,he looks at you once more as he slowly slides on a pair of Aviator Sunglasses. As he starts the engine and takes on, you remember you didn't out on your seat belt, and suddenly everything has become a roller coaster, bothin physical form as he slews in and out of traffic, hand braking into corners and skidding around buses, because fuck buses, and almost emotionally. Will putting on a seat belt signify I'm a traitor to the cause of speed? Will it officially make me his bitch? I'm too young to die!

How to Deal With It- it's a roller coaster. Put your damns hands in the air and scream with the joy of a twelve year old. He will appreciate the tinnitus. It will sound like a colosseum of applause.

The StopGo

Brake. Accelerate. Brake, accelerate. Pump the gas, pump the gas, pump the gas. All the while gripping the automatic gear stick as if at any moment he will change gear. No you won't do that, you're in an automatic. Pump the gas, pump the gas. My neck is about to snap, my head is about to roll into my lap. I'm dying. This is what dying feels like.

How to Deal With it- Kill yourself. Just open the car door and roll out. End the misery.

Top 5 TV Father/Son Relationships - That weren't actually Father andSon.

Television, or as I like to call it, TV, has been around for so long it is a member of the family. As Homer Simpson says,  'father,  mother,  secret lover.' Sure,  frequently it gets violent, or sends out confusing messages. This for many people, is akin to their kin.

However, the characters on TV portray beautiful relationships. These relationships seep into our collective psyche as often idealized through rose tinted glasses. We refer to them as examples of how to do relationships correctly. The fact is that if we look at them, most relationships do not pass muster. Talking about Walter White and Jesse (I want to say Owens,or Eisenberg, but that is probably wrong) as a good parent/child dynamic works only if you ignore the inception, the duration, the environment and the ending of their relationship. Breaking Bad was probably the show's title purely because all the relationships failed so spectacularly.

N

                                                               Bad Dad.

The best relationships, for me, are the father/son dynamics. A moment when a father gives respect to a son, or a son gives recognition for his father's efforts, those always pull my heartstrings. The most powerful are those where the father figures are not related to their young progeny. Not being related by blood shows the ties that bind in unlikely relationships have to rely moreHere on shared experiences and less on strained conversation during holiday dinners.

Here are five of the best, in my awesome opinion. Be warned, tearing up is going to be par for the course.  Unless you don't believe in television and, honestly,  if that's the case,  I just feel sorry for you.

5. Uncle Phil and Will Smith (The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air)

Why? Right off the bat, their names rhyme. That's beautiful, man. Uncle Phil was the ex activist turned successful lawyer turned judge who somehow converted leftist leanings into a palatial Beverly Hills Home. Will was the 16 year old hardened teenager forced to move by his mother from Philadelphia to Beverly Hills because she is just such a bitch.

Over the next six seasons, Uncle Phil and Will would find themselves opposing views, conflicting and creating syntheses like the tired old hack Socrates predicted. Uncle Phil would go on to be a successful judge and see his actual children grow up in a respectable manner.They almost always followed his rules and never really rebelled against the man who, to be honest, was a little draconian in his laying down of the law. Will was often the problem child. This independent streak was not particualrly tolerated by the big man. However, as time went on, Will would grow to respect the man who would save him from countless problems, whether it was jail or pool sharks.

  While not what I was talking about , this is a terrifying childhood fear brought into  perspective.

Video Proof of the Pudding

The crux of the relationship came when Will's real father was involved. An absentee father for fourteen years, he tries to bail on Will , leaving Uncle Phil to tell Will that he's gone. Phil refuses, incensed and Will's father is forced to uncomfortably say goodbye to Will himself. Will monologues afterwards on his hopes and aspirations,on his abilities to grow independent of his father. Will is just crushed. It culminates with Smith asking 'Why didn't he want me, man?" and Uncle Phil gives him the greatest bear hug ever known.

You are officially allowed to start crying now.

James Avery died January 2014 and a section of the world held its breath waiting for the eulogy from Will Smith.

"Every young man needs an Uncle Phil. Rest in Peace." He is absolutely right. A strong father figure, a blunt force on occasion, an example of what it means to have morals, integrity, the ability to work hard? I think that's a bloody good place to start.

4. Dr Cox and JD (Scrubs) 

JD was the lead in a show that relied on the classic M*A*S*H effect. First the whimsical humour, then the harsh reality. Cue tears and a smile. Get paid, get laid. Scrubs was one of the best shows of a generation, as long as you ignore the terriawful last season. If you apply Crystal Skulls Rules, you should be okay. If you don't know what Crystal Skulls is, you're doing fine. I apologise for all the terrible references. I have no excuses except this blog is being written in 2007.

JD was a puppy yearning to be an alpha dog. Cox was a snarling feral beast that ran out of fucks to give before anyone else on the planet. JD would play a role that at times recycled feelings and thought processes, until you were almost definitely sure the writers had Memento crania, Dr Cox grew. He grew from a surly taciturn man who was both incapable and of forming relationships, to accepting his role as a father and then as a husband, then as a part of a group of friends. And JD made that happen. No other person could be capable of getting through Cox's wall of personality defects. No other person would take the constant sniping, snarling, threatening and violence. Dr Cox was a terrible Mentor before John Dorian arrived at Sacred Heart Hospital. He was a loner who delighted in doing things with complete disregard for his coworkers, for his career or his interns.  JD was so desperate to have a good mentor , he forced Cox to change his lifestyle. JD taught Cox to care, so much so he ended up having a successful career and family.

Cox , on the other hand, taught JD to not care so much. Or not so little. His ability to curtail JD's emotional outpourings helped the boy grow up into a man, and the intern to become a confident doctor, father and husband. Dorian had John Ritter as an absentee father figure to account for his upbringing as a deranged  imaginative boy. When Ritter's character died, it was Cox who helped out both JD and his brother through the grieving process. 

    I think they follow a team called the Wheel Burners. I'm going to say ...a frisbee team?

Video Proof Of The Pudding

The love was FINALLY shown in the last episode. Sunny, a horrible vacuous terrible character that continued to show how badly women were written in this show,  tells Dr. Cox how glad she is that J.D. is finally leaving. Dr. Cox replies that he considers J.D. a talented doctor, a good person, and a friend. J.D. (who had planned this in advance with Sunny) is secretly behind him and hears the whole thing, finally hugging a mortified Dr. Cox. Dr. Cox then erases the smile on Sunny's face by reminding her she will be at Sacred Heart for a long time.

You can see it here.

Oh my days. The tears, they cleanse my soul. In a show that thrived on introspection and fantasy, Perry Ulysses Cox cut through the bullshit., He said Medicine is a terrible profession with terrible things that happen daily. And we loved him for it,goddammit.

3. Leo McGarry and Josh Lyman (The West Wing)

There were a few father figures on the West Wing, of course. Toby Ziegler represented the surly and disappointed id to both of his deputies, Sam Seaborn and Will Bailey.  Jed Bartlett was the benevolent uber patriarch who was gracious enough to let Charlie Young shtupp his daughter . However, it was the relationship of Leo and Josh, the respective chief and deputy chief of staff that became a personal favourite. Over the course of the West Wing's Seven Season run, the dynamic between these two managed to progress from simple boss and employee.  Loyalty was shown repeatedly in ever greater and hyperbolic manner. Leo is eventually superseded by Josh as the new President's Chief of Staff, and Leo is essentially hired by Josh by the end of season six to the second most important political position in the land.  

Leo's ability to separate the personal and the public was something Josh always struggled with. Josh's sexual relationships seemed driven by whoever walked into his office that week. When you are rooting for the will-they, wont-they couple that consists of Josh and his secretary assistant, something's askew. 

                            One of these two was aiming out of their league. You decide who.

However, Josh always had Leo to talk to, to be kept in check by, to express fears and self doubt. Without Leo's guidance, Josh would have been just another hard-nosed lizard brained young gunner on the Hill. With his guidance, he learned to formulate a wider vision and, ultimately, how to be a better politician and person.

Video Proof of the Pudding

Josh's job has been in jeopardy repeatedly on the show, and has consistently been protected by Leo. In this scene, Josh has just been diagnosed with PTSD. The subtext, the connection, the minimal exposure to feelings. They're so Connecticut, wasps want to hug each other.  Here, look at this.

http://youtu.be/ZQJ6yqQRAQs

The death of John Spencer mid season seven's filming led to a decision to have the death of the character happen onscreen. Josh's reaction is terrible to behold, especially since it is eerily reminscent of his actual father's death which occurs in flashback in season two.  The suffering and waiting and gnashing of teeth was performed well by Kristen Chenoweth.  However,  the silent lost nature of Josh was so honestly masculine. A character who had lost so much already had finally lost his unbeatable supporting structure. That scene is not on YouTube , possibly because it is utterly soul crushing. In a world so jaded and numbed, Josh's pensive mourning has not been collected for posterity by YouTube.

2. Bobby Singer and the Winchester Brothers (Supernatural)

Supernatural saw Sam and Dean Winchester killing all manner of supernatural creatures in a bid to protect Humanity's status quo. Bobby Singer is a friend of their father, a man who is also a hunter of said supernatural beings who also acts as an improbable frontman for all supernatural hunters, which somehow fooled all the law enforcement agencies in America supernaturally. Could I say Supernatural more often? has the word Supernatural become like the word smurf o you yet. Jesus, I've typed supernatural so much now, I'm supernatural. Supernatural.

The gruff Sam, the gruffer Dean and the gruffest Bobby. These guys made expressing emotions through choked out half formed sentences an art form. The closest Bobby comes to expressing his love is Bobby telling them "Family don't end with blood, boy."  More than once Dean tells Bobby he's like a father to him. Bobby has listed Dean as his official next of kin. "There are fundamental differences between Bobby and the boys' father, and as much as the boys clearly love their father in some ways they're more comfortable with Bobby. But everybody has parent baggage, and sometimes your playful uncle is a more fun parent figure than your real parents." This viewpoint was expressed by the actor playing Bobby,  and it's a valid opinion.

However their actions spoke volumes. Dean killed Bobby once while possessed by an Angel. Once that possession was resolved, Dean was crushed.  Bobby has been talked out of suicide by the boys, has helped get both boys ' souls from hell and has refused heaven to remain as a watchful ghost, protecting the brothers. That is above and beyond the call of a 'playful uncle'. 

                  

1) Tim Taylor and Wilson (Home Improvement)

Tim 'the tool man' Taylor was a terrible father and an even worse husband. His only excuse was that he clearly suffered from some form of mental deficiency. He was an idiot savant whose genius at boosting appliances was used instead of common sense. When he inevitably failed in his familial relationships, Tim was lost. he was lost to the point he was a gibbering caveman. It was pathetic really.

The only person who could help the moron was his next door neighbor, Wilson. Wilson would never show his face over the show's entire run time. Instead, he showed Tim how to socially interact with the entire world for every single situation, combination or permutation of issues. He was a camouflaged etiquette  teacher, a guidance counselor, a pre-divorce lawyer, a goddamn consilieri to the machined mafia.

Over eight years, with Wilson behind the scenes (and behind the fence), Tim learned to listen to his kids, respect his wife, respect his wife's friends, not make fun of fat people, be tolerant of other points of view and maybe not use nuclear power to improve his ice machine. Wilson not only saved Tim, he probably saved us all.

Nope.

Sorry.

I can't do this.

Tool time should not be number one. It clearly should have been Breaking Bad. Fuck you Disney execs who have my family at gunpoint. I'm not afraid of you.

HELP! help! We're being held against-

       HAHA! NOTHING TO SEE HERE!

The Reality. Of Gaming With Friends

Playing games is an integral part of our society. It allows for interaction in a field where real life does not need to intrude. Escapism , imagination, action, competition, co operation, validation, these are what people look for when they play games. And that's fine to a degree. My problem is when you game with the same people again and again.

Let's compare. I'm have two groups of friends with whom I play games. 

One group are RPGers. There are maybe ten of them and so there is an ever changing field. The games played are varied, from Board games like Settlers and Rummikub, to D&D style engines, like Apocalypse and Blades in the Dark.. Everyone is up for a new game and everyone encourages everyone to take a lead. They are huge nerds and are proud of it.

The other group is a small group which doesn't change. The games played are either Munchkin, Goldenye, Pokemon Stadium, or Mario Kart. The game dictates who will play, since players refuse to play anything other than the game they like. Also there is very clearly a group of winners and losers within that group. They are huge nerds and are proud of it. 

A larger variety of games is one thing. Being able to use my mind instead of relying on hand eye coordination is another. Playing games where losing is not a thing versus losing is a thing is yet another. No one likes losing, and I am not that big a fan of winning either. Winning is overrated unless there is a real world benefit. This goes back to my gambling problems. And so, my winning would have a real world consequence to my competitor. Which means, when playing with friends, they suffer when I win and I am not a big fan of that. Playing in the seance group is cool, because losing with friends is a bonding moment. I am proud to see my friend lose, suck it up, when he is obviously pissed, jog on and find some way to have fun.

My major issue is players who do not want to play games. I am talking about the player who suggests one game, and only That game. I'm talking about the player who refuses to play any other game. I'm talking about a player who owns one game, and pWns all who try to play against that person, and tells them it's okay because they are just really good at this one game. When you have someone who only wants to play one game, and it is a game at which they are dominant, there are multiple gripes I have. 

Firstly, you're limiting the player pool, so your refusal to play limits the enjoyment level of your friends. More people playing varies the texture of the game, allows people to take a break, and gives champions a chance to bow out gracefully. 

Secondly, you're dismissing the other games, thus reducing the other players' life choice values. When you say I don't play that kind of game to someone who wants to do that, it's dismissive. You're saying that you are better than that game, and therefore you are better than those people who want to play that game.

Thirdly, when you dominate one game and you only want to play that game, it suggests an id issue. You define yourself as a winner. You do not want that definition to be brought into question. When you only do things you are good at, when you shy away from things you are not the best at, you are placing yourself on a pedestal. No one gets to be on a pedestal. I regularly do things that I am not good at. I do them because I enjoy being with people, and that is more important than being the best with people. Of course that's my id, and I am recognisant of it. That's why I also try to try new things whenever I can. It led me to roleplaying, which I am so thankful for. It led me to sports I would never have played otherwise. Softball and Ultimate Frisbee both gave me a lot of pleasure. If I had never played because I could not be the best, or in the high percentile of great players within a small pool, then I would have missed out on becoming a more rounded human being. I would have stunted my growth within and without. 

Losing sucks, but only for a while. Winning all the time is fun, but only for a while. Try new things, especially when suggested by your friends. They're suggesting them for a reason and if they're your friends, it is probably a valid reason.

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 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.

I Have Enough Friends

I just sat down to eat at Burnham's Burgers for my lunch today.  I was alone but quite happy to watch YouTube as I ate my egg mushroom burger.  As I am munching on my food,  I see someone I know who is alone as well.  We have known each other a long time.  We exchanged pleasantries and he sat down away from me with his back turned.  When I finished I said goodbye and he said goodbye and that was  it.
I reflected as I walked away,  shuffling with fake confidence on my still improving right knee.  What was I to that person? What was that person to myself?  Friends? Friends would sit down and eat together. We would enquire into each other's lives.  We would talk about minutiae, or deep thoughts. I felt no such compulsion to be at the same table in the same way he felt no desire to share with me his innermost secrets.

But we are not enemies.  At least,  I don't think we are.  I know he is part of a group of people who regard me with emotions ranging from disdain to indifference.  Bit he has always been cordial and polite.  I have never heard of him saying a bad word to anyone,  much less about me.  He doesn't roll like that.

So what exactly are we to each  other?  Colleagues?  The TESOL Community is now far too large to be friends just because you're both foreigners in a strange land trying to do an unappreciated job. Acquaintances? We have both been part of sports leagues and dramatic events.  And yet, we never hung out.

We are Facebook friends,  that number you can either  choose to let define you or not.  People you have known your whole life,  or people you met at a bar last night are giving the same station.  Yes,  you can partition your friend groups in Facebook.  No,  I don't do that.  Who has the time and the inclination to breakdown their association?

And yet.  What am I to that guy? Probably nothing important. If I was,  I reason,  he would try to get to know me better.  The fact he hasn't tells me he has no pressing desire or need.  He has enough friends.  Good for him.

If you asked a younger version if me if you could have a finite number of friends,  he would have scrunched up his face and snuffed the suddenly confusing air. Too many friends,  are you kidding me? Nowadays,  I can say I have enough friends.

I am confident with my picks.  I have multiple circles that are interwoven and autonomous.  I have different interests represented.  I have respect and love and joy and connection.  I can lose touch without fear of losing friendship.  I have colleagyes and Acquaintances as well.  But really,  I don't worry about being just another Facebook friend in the crowd.

I have enough friends.