I wrote this for a job ap, and I'm gonna move it to a new forthcoming blog soon. I'll just leave this here now.
Haeundae
Korea’s most popular beach lies on the peninsula’s southern coast, on the eastern side of the city of Busan. Dalmaji Hill and the mountains beyond gives Haeundae a Mediterranean feel, or at least as close as one can get in Korea. The rough white sand beach stretches for 1.5 kilometers between Mipo Wharf on the east and the Westin Chosun and Dongbaek Park on the west. The beach is taken over by enormous throngs of Koreans in July and August, and downtown Haeundae-gu has enough hotels, restaurants, bars, and karaoke rooms to handle them. Fortunately for the traveler, this means that hotel rooms are both inexpensive and easy to find throughout the rest of the year. Pusan International Film Festival (PIFF), Korea’s largest and one of the biggest in Asia, takes over Haeundae the first week of October. This is an excellent time for film buffs and Hallyu (Korean Wave) fans to head to the beach.
Arrival, information, and accommodation
Trains call on Haeundae Station from Ulsan, Gyeongju, Daegu, and ultimately Seoul, However, these trains are infrequent and slow, taking 6 hours or more to arrive from Seoul. You are better off reaching Haeundae by using Busan Station. It has better connections to Seoul via KTX train, which whips to Seoul in under 3 hours ( www.info.korail.com/2007/eng/eng_index.jsp). Subway Line 2 also stops at Haeundae Station, which is the easiest connection from Busan Station, the bus terminals, and central Busan. Use exits 3 or 5 from the subway to reach the beach, a ten minute walk from the station. The city Bus stops at Haeundae Station. Bus 302 connects Haeundae with downtown Busan. The Tourist Information booth at Haeundae station is a bit difficult to manage for non-Korean speakers, but there are free maps in English. The Busan Station Tourist Information kiosk is more user friendly. You can also call 51/1330 for tourist information in English.
Not surprisingly, Haeundae has a surplus of hotels in every category. Novotel Ambassador Busan (51/743-1234, www.novotelbusan.com/eng/index.php) is in the center of the beach. The Novotel boasts Murpii (51/743-1234 Ext . 6071, www.murphys.co.kr/) , the most popular dance club on Haeundae. The Westin Chosun (051/749-7428, www.westin.com/busan) dominates the western edge of the beach, and is still considered the standard of Haeundae luxury. This hotel features great sunrise views and posh O’Kim’s bar, along with top end restaurants. Hotel Riviera (51/740-2111, rivierahotel.co.kr/EN/index.html) is a midrange hotel five minutes off the beach, halfway along the main road between the Novotel and Haeundae Station. Gangnam Motel (no phone listed) is located just off the beach. Follow the main road away from the beach, with the Novotel on your right, turn left at first stoplight, then left again at the first alley. Outside of peak summer season and early October, rooms run about 30,000 won per night. Rooms are clean, though small and drab. Several dirt-cheap motels stand a few blocks west of the Novotel, some as low as 20,000 won a night, though they are definitely on the seedy side.
The Town
Chock full of restaurants, entertainment options, and the best people watching in Korea, it’s easy to see why Haeundae is so popular. Busan Aquarium (51/740-1700, 10am-9pm weekdays, 9am-10pm weekends and holidays; adults 16,000 won, children 11,000 won; www.busanaquarium.com/eng/f_main.html) is Korea’s largest and best, featuring a large glass tunnel through the massive shark tank. Glass bottom boat rides over the shark tank are also available for 5,000 won. Dongbaek Park lies on the west end of the beach, near the Westin Chosen. It’s a great place to walk or jog past sweeping views of the Gwangan Bridge, Korea’s longest and most beautiful. At the east end of the beach, Mipo Wharf offers boat rides along the beach and around a nearby uninhabited islet. The Haeundae Open Air Market is a couple blocks north of the beach, and offers all kinds of goods. After the sun sets, several impromptu peddlers along the beach sell Roman Candles and other fireworks for your pyro pleasure.
Eating, drinking, and entertainment
Haeundae is a top dining and nightlife destination, and has the largest culinary variety of any neighborhood in Korea outside Seoul. Along with all manner of Korean delights, you can also choose from Thai, Indian, Turkish, Mexican, Italian, as well as American chains such as Outback Steakhouse and TGI Friday’s. Nightlife ranges from trendy clubs and posh bars in the high end hotels to soju and Roman Candles on the beach. For gamblers, try your luck at the casino in the Paradise Hotel, next door to the Novotel on the beach.
Beers Plus A few blocks north of the beach along the main road. This is a Korean-style hof, which requires the purchase of food to buy draft beer. Decent nachos. This hof is on the 8th floor of its building, and features a roof deck.
Dairy Queen Located in the concourse under the aquarium, which has stair access directly from the beach. Korea’s only outlet of the franchise, so it’s the only place in the country to get a Blizzard. Ice cream only.
Mipo Wharf On the far east side of the beach. Take your pick of seaside raw fish restaurants. On the pricy side, but you can’t find fresher fish.
Starface On Dalmaji Hill, the best way to get there is via taxi (2-3,000 won). Ask the driver to take you to “kim-sung-jong joori-moon hak-gowan,” which is next to the bar. Cheap drinks, nice views, and live music.
Taco Al Puebla A little difficult to find, walk away from the beach on the main road, turn right through the market, cross the street and turn left after the market, turn right in the first alley. It’s tiny, but may have a line out the door. Possibly the best Mexican food in Korea, and quite cheap for non-Korean food.
U2 Bar Just north of the beach, across the street from Novotel. A rowdy expat bar that serves delicious free popcorn, a rarity in Korea. Live music occasionally.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Korea 1
originally posted on 10/1/06
I don't even really know where to start. I don't have the Internets at home yet, so I'm at an internet cafe. Maybe I'll start there. Internet cafes here, they aren't like the type you run into in the U.S.. or Europe. The chairs are comfortable, the lights are dim, it's loud, and you can smoke. And they are cheap, like a dollar an hour.
When I landed here Thursday night (Wednesday night so far as I was concerned, because the sun was out for the entire flight), I was picked up by driver holding a sign that said "Tobb xxxxx." I got in his van, and headed off from the airport, without a clue as to where I was going. At some point on the aimless drive from Incheon to Seoul, he got a call on his cell phone, and it was for me. Somehow, this made sense.
Anyway, I ended up at a motel that the school had put me in for the first couple of nights. It was clean and tasteful, but I'm pretty sure it was a hooker motel. The massage oils and condom (wrapped) on the dresser table was a pretty good giveaway there. Plus, the TV got free porn. Two different channels of free porn, in fact.
I haven't started work yet, I start tomorrow. It sounds like it won't be too bad after the first few days, plus this is only a 3 day week, Thursday and Friday are holidays.
I am already 85% sure that this country will kill me. The bars don't close. Ever. Any of them. Neither do the liquor/convenience stores. I've already had a night where i was out until 7 a.m. It's like a Vegas or a New Orleans, only there's 11 million people. Plus, you can smoke everywhere, and cigs are 2.50. I am also learning the evils of soju. It's this rice wine, it's 20% alcohol or something but feels like more. It's fairly bad straight, but I mixed it with juice, and discovered that the ratio of the drink can be like 90 percent soju and 10 percent juice, and it just tastes like juice. Oh yeah, and the bottles of it cost like 90 cents. And apparently, the Koreans don't drink like say, the french. It's not a bottle of wine with dinner. Everyone is out to get completely shitfaced. You see guys in business suits passed out at the bar, and nobody cares. From what I've heard, the entire city's policy on kicking someone out of a bar makes the Replay look draconian.
Lots of other cultural things I can talk about here, but I'll save it for later. Like, environmental stuff, I guess, is taken a lot more seriously than in the U.S. Like, you don't get bags at the grocery store, you bring your own, like Aldi. Which is a weird way to end a blog, but is the way this one ends.
I don't even really know where to start. I don't have the Internets at home yet, so I'm at an internet cafe. Maybe I'll start there. Internet cafes here, they aren't like the type you run into in the U.S.. or Europe. The chairs are comfortable, the lights are dim, it's loud, and you can smoke. And they are cheap, like a dollar an hour.
When I landed here Thursday night (Wednesday night so far as I was concerned, because the sun was out for the entire flight), I was picked up by driver holding a sign that said "Tobb xxxxx." I got in his van, and headed off from the airport, without a clue as to where I was going. At some point on the aimless drive from Incheon to Seoul, he got a call on his cell phone, and it was for me. Somehow, this made sense.
Anyway, I ended up at a motel that the school had put me in for the first couple of nights. It was clean and tasteful, but I'm pretty sure it was a hooker motel. The massage oils and condom (wrapped) on the dresser table was a pretty good giveaway there. Plus, the TV got free porn. Two different channels of free porn, in fact.
I haven't started work yet, I start tomorrow. It sounds like it won't be too bad after the first few days, plus this is only a 3 day week, Thursday and Friday are holidays.
I am already 85% sure that this country will kill me. The bars don't close. Ever. Any of them. Neither do the liquor/convenience stores. I've already had a night where i was out until 7 a.m. It's like a Vegas or a New Orleans, only there's 11 million people. Plus, you can smoke everywhere, and cigs are 2.50. I am also learning the evils of soju. It's this rice wine, it's 20% alcohol or something but feels like more. It's fairly bad straight, but I mixed it with juice, and discovered that the ratio of the drink can be like 90 percent soju and 10 percent juice, and it just tastes like juice. Oh yeah, and the bottles of it cost like 90 cents. And apparently, the Koreans don't drink like say, the french. It's not a bottle of wine with dinner. Everyone is out to get completely shitfaced. You see guys in business suits passed out at the bar, and nobody cares. From what I've heard, the entire city's policy on kicking someone out of a bar makes the Replay look draconian.
Lots of other cultural things I can talk about here, but I'll save it for later. Like, environmental stuff, I guess, is taken a lot more seriously than in the U.S. Like, you don't get bags at the grocery store, you bring your own, like Aldi. Which is a weird way to end a blog, but is the way this one ends.
Itaewon
originally posted on 10/6/06
Well, we're coming at you LIVE, from the belly of the beast at Itaewaon. Obviously, this night is not too exciting, as I am in fact on the Internets and ripping off Bill Simmons introductions.
Anyway, so last night was awesome. I came out by myself, and ended up meeting like 20 people, including the cliche gorgeous long haired brunette that, inevitably, ruined my life, if only for a short period of time. These things happen, I suppose.
Tonight, not so much on the interesting action. I still can't quite figure out the bars here. I was at a joint called Spy Bar, and drinks were abnormally expensive (like 5 bucks! fucking hell) and the place was chock full of ridiculously gorgeous girls, and generally schlub dudes, like myself. I figured, surely I must be in a ho bar, so I immediately left (well, after my overpriced beer). Now, if I were in a smiler bar in say, Chicago or LA or Paris or whatever, where all of the girls are basically model quality, and all of the dudes are the type that I can compete with, and well, defeat, then there's no way in hell I'm leaving. But, I've never been in such a bar in LA or Chicago or Paris or whatever, so I just assumed it must be a ho bar. Anyway, I ended up making friends with some dude that owned a bar down the street, and he said that it's not a ho bar, that it's totally legit, and that abnormally hot girls like to hang out in said bar.
Wait, why am I telling you all this? I'm going to fucking Spy Bar. End communication.
Well, we're coming at you LIVE, from the belly of the beast at Itaewaon. Obviously, this night is not too exciting, as I am in fact on the Internets and ripping off Bill Simmons introductions.
Anyway, so last night was awesome. I came out by myself, and ended up meeting like 20 people, including the cliche gorgeous long haired brunette that, inevitably, ruined my life, if only for a short period of time. These things happen, I suppose.
Tonight, not so much on the interesting action. I still can't quite figure out the bars here. I was at a joint called Spy Bar, and drinks were abnormally expensive (like 5 bucks! fucking hell) and the place was chock full of ridiculously gorgeous girls, and generally schlub dudes, like myself. I figured, surely I must be in a ho bar, so I immediately left (well, after my overpriced beer). Now, if I were in a smiler bar in say, Chicago or LA or Paris or whatever, where all of the girls are basically model quality, and all of the dudes are the type that I can compete with, and well, defeat, then there's no way in hell I'm leaving. But, I've never been in such a bar in LA or Chicago or Paris or whatever, so I just assumed it must be a ho bar. Anyway, I ended up making friends with some dude that owned a bar down the street, and he said that it's not a ho bar, that it's totally legit, and that abnormally hot girls like to hang out in said bar.
Wait, why am I telling you all this? I'm going to fucking Spy Bar. End communication.
It Continues
originally posted on 10/7/06
I've been to Itaewon for four straight nights. Which is like being at the Replay for 4 straight nights, if the Replay was open until 5 or 6 a.m. or something. I'm not going tomorrow though, I swear.
Last night, after posting, I ended up going to like 5 or 6 more bars, including the eternally evil Polly's Kettle House, where they serve up these horrible drinks called kettles. These basically consist of 15-20 ounces of soju and some mixer, for 5 bucks. Brutal.
So, hilarious thing about Korea, and I guess many countries in general - the gangsta wannabe type dudes. I was at The Loft tonight (a bar where girls drink free, yet tonight, no cute girls) and there's all these Nigerian dudes wearing random U.S. sports jerseys, clearly influenced by hip hop/rap videos. Yet, these guys have no knowledge whatsoever of U.S. sports, and all of the jerseys are fake Korean street vendor fare, so there are lots of dudes wearing jerseys of, like, Eddie George and Merton Hanks, and other random players like that that had 5-6 good years several years ago, but that nobody back home wears ever.
In a more serious and sad note, I am infinitely depressed by the death of Buck O'Neil, and all the more angered by the idiot hall of fame committee that decided a long dead Newark secretary was more worthy of enshrinement than baseball's greatest ambassador. For my own very small effort, I did spend much of the night telling rabid Korean baseball fans about Buck. I'd like to dedicate tonight's blog entry to Buck O'Neil, but I won't, because he deserves far better than a dedication here, on the interweb's most bush league address. I will say this: though I didn't know him, I feel like I have lost a friend. The world in general, and Kansas City in particular, is a worse off place today.
Good night (or good morning?) from Seoul. I'll write more about random hot Canadian girls later, but right now, I want everybody who reads this to think about Buck. Read Posnanski tomorrow (kansascity.com), I am sure it will be the column of his life, and one that i am not looking forward to reading.
I've been to Itaewon for four straight nights. Which is like being at the Replay for 4 straight nights, if the Replay was open until 5 or 6 a.m. or something. I'm not going tomorrow though, I swear.
Last night, after posting, I ended up going to like 5 or 6 more bars, including the eternally evil Polly's Kettle House, where they serve up these horrible drinks called kettles. These basically consist of 15-20 ounces of soju and some mixer, for 5 bucks. Brutal.
So, hilarious thing about Korea, and I guess many countries in general - the gangsta wannabe type dudes. I was at The Loft tonight (a bar where girls drink free, yet tonight, no cute girls) and there's all these Nigerian dudes wearing random U.S. sports jerseys, clearly influenced by hip hop/rap videos. Yet, these guys have no knowledge whatsoever of U.S. sports, and all of the jerseys are fake Korean street vendor fare, so there are lots of dudes wearing jerseys of, like, Eddie George and Merton Hanks, and other random players like that that had 5-6 good years several years ago, but that nobody back home wears ever.
In a more serious and sad note, I am infinitely depressed by the death of Buck O'Neil, and all the more angered by the idiot hall of fame committee that decided a long dead Newark secretary was more worthy of enshrinement than baseball's greatest ambassador. For my own very small effort, I did spend much of the night telling rabid Korean baseball fans about Buck. I'd like to dedicate tonight's blog entry to Buck O'Neil, but I won't, because he deserves far better than a dedication here, on the interweb's most bush league address. I will say this: though I didn't know him, I feel like I have lost a friend. The world in general, and Kansas City in particular, is a worse off place today.
Good night (or good morning?) from Seoul. I'll write more about random hot Canadian girls later, but right now, I want everybody who reads this to think about Buck. Read Posnanski tomorrow (kansascity.com), I am sure it will be the column of his life, and one that i am not looking forward to reading.
Fearing North Invasion and Fan Death
originally posted on 10/14/06
It's a beautiful day in Seoul, so of course I've been spending the afternoon sleeping, watching Korean MTV, and sitting in the subterranian interweb lair. Just thought I'd write on a couple random things I've learned so far...
Fan Death - I'm really excited about this one. Apparently, in Korea, fans can kill you. Ceiling fans, oscillating fans, anything, I guess. You can't run a fan in a room without the window open. It's forbidden. Obviously, the fan will suck the oxygen out of the air, and you will die.
Kim's Club - this is what a grocery store should be. I love this place. It's huge, and underground, and beats the hell out of any U.S. or European grocer. First off, there's a veritable army of hot girls in short skirts and knee socks that work there, they are set up with samples of free shit in every aisle. There's free samples of, like, everything, including Heineken. Yes, that's right. Kim's Club has a hot girl in a short skirt giving you free beer. Not much of course, but I think it's really the principle that matters here. I've yet to make it out of the store in less than an hour. I can't find the salt and pepper that I seek there, and nobody speaks any English at all, but what the fuck, free beer.
The job has been okay. A couple of the classes are really bad, chock full of bad kids. One class has this horrible, possibly evil kid, and when he gets going, he's a bad influence on another student, whom I'll call Lou here. Lou is really dumb. He's like, the Kerney of the class. I think he is probably 24 or so. He speaks almost no English. One of my co-workers theorized that he probably can't speak any Korean either. Yesterday, he got 100% on his test, so I am positive he must have cheated. He handed me his test book and said, "me smart."
Some of the textbooks are awesome. In one passage, in a dialogue about eating unhealthy food, one of the characters says something along the lines of "I don't care if I grow bigger eating sweets. I must satisfy the desires of my mouth." I actually have to not laugh at this in class, which is really hard. There's a ton of other hilarious Engrish examples in these textbooks as well. There's a pronunciation book, which is just speech drills on certain sounds. The other day, it was the -ar sound we were doing, so of course, I couldn't resist getting the kids to do it pirate-style. good to see that pirate humor is international.
I've been pretty low-key in the going out scene this week, so I have no stories there, but that should change tonight. Hopefully, I should have something interesting to say.
It's a beautiful day in Seoul, so of course I've been spending the afternoon sleeping, watching Korean MTV, and sitting in the subterranian interweb lair. Just thought I'd write on a couple random things I've learned so far...
Fan Death - I'm really excited about this one. Apparently, in Korea, fans can kill you. Ceiling fans, oscillating fans, anything, I guess. You can't run a fan in a room without the window open. It's forbidden. Obviously, the fan will suck the oxygen out of the air, and you will die.
Kim's Club - this is what a grocery store should be. I love this place. It's huge, and underground, and beats the hell out of any U.S. or European grocer. First off, there's a veritable army of hot girls in short skirts and knee socks that work there, they are set up with samples of free shit in every aisle. There's free samples of, like, everything, including Heineken. Yes, that's right. Kim's Club has a hot girl in a short skirt giving you free beer. Not much of course, but I think it's really the principle that matters here. I've yet to make it out of the store in less than an hour. I can't find the salt and pepper that I seek there, and nobody speaks any English at all, but what the fuck, free beer.
The job has been okay. A couple of the classes are really bad, chock full of bad kids. One class has this horrible, possibly evil kid, and when he gets going, he's a bad influence on another student, whom I'll call Lou here. Lou is really dumb. He's like, the Kerney of the class. I think he is probably 24 or so. He speaks almost no English. One of my co-workers theorized that he probably can't speak any Korean either. Yesterday, he got 100% on his test, so I am positive he must have cheated. He handed me his test book and said, "me smart."
Some of the textbooks are awesome. In one passage, in a dialogue about eating unhealthy food, one of the characters says something along the lines of "I don't care if I grow bigger eating sweets. I must satisfy the desires of my mouth." I actually have to not laugh at this in class, which is really hard. There's a ton of other hilarious Engrish examples in these textbooks as well. There's a pronunciation book, which is just speech drills on certain sounds. The other day, it was the -ar sound we were doing, so of course, I couldn't resist getting the kids to do it pirate-style. good to see that pirate humor is international.
I've been pretty low-key in the going out scene this week, so I have no stories there, but that should change tonight. Hopefully, I should have something interesting to say.
Japan
originally posted on 10/24/06
A few random notes on my brief stay in japan:
I noticed, and maybe this is a new development, that when I flew to Japan on Monday morning, (okay, Sunday night in my book, since I didn't sleep and I left for the airport at 5 a.m. after winning the Madden Superbowl) that flights can be quite hair-raising and scary when you are sober. I mean, you are flying in this enormous (and I don't know what the deal with Korean Air is, but I was in row 40 yet I was on the wing. There must have been 900 people on this flight) plane, and it's an hour flight, so pretty much the whole time its either taking off or landing, which I'm used to on a 737, but on this behemoth of a plane (an Airbus, which I don't know much about. I think an A-300) it's all the more scary. But then, I discovered, on the return flight, on the same type of plane, in perhaps worse weather, the trip was an absolute beaute, and I wasn't remotely nervous. The difference? Well, on the return flight, I was absolutely hammered. I think I may be onto something here.
Fukuoka, by the way, has a fine airport, in my opinion. The international terminal was totally empty. My flight was the only one leaving from it. And in this case, international is like 400 miles. 2 cool things at the Fukuaka airport: there are two observation decks, outdoors-ish, so you can watch planes take off. Which, despite my problems with flying, I enjoy doing, because it re-assures me to see planes not crashing. Plus, though I could not find a bar, at least in the international terminal, I found something better. There were convenience stores that sold beers for like a dollar. And it's totally kosher to walk around the airport drinking them. At least, I assume it was. I mean, hell, they sell them past security, and you can't bring liquid on the plane, so where the hell else are you going to drink them? Plus, on top of that, the beers are 7% alcohol, and they sell them in weird flavors like lemonade and orange, so you can knock one back in like 20 seconds or so.
Don't get me wrong, I like beer, beer that tastes like beer, and I am totally opposed to the "flavored malt beverage" thing, like your Mike's Hard Lemonades and your Smirnoff Ices, but the Japanese have managed to get around all possible issues with such drinks and their effete nature by taking 5 key steps, in my opinion:
-They really do taste like lemonade, and lemonade is good
-They put a higher alcohol content in these than regular beer
-They make it the cheapest drink available
-This is key – they put it in cans – no queer yellow or cloudy liquid in a clear bottle
-They sell them for nothing at the fucking airport
Other funny things about Japan in general include the fact that you can't smoke while walking. It's the law. It's perfectly legal to stand on the street, pretty much anywhere, and smoke, but if you walk down the same street, it's illegal. CC told me it's because it goes against the Japanese notion of the group dynamic, which makes smoking in a restaurant or bar or with others on the street perfectly okay, but that walking down the street while smoking is going too much your own way, and it upsets the group dynamic, to the point where they actually made a law against it. So far as I'm concerned, this is the equivalent of the internet being legal, and porn being legal, but internet porn being illegal. I mean, doesn't walking and smoking go together like the internet and porn? And don't kill me for having a lame punchline here, I honestly was trying to make a point rather than set up a joke.
Speaking of CC – for anybody who has read this before, you know that I don't usually use this space to, ah, what's the opposite of make fun of people? But anyway, I just want to re-affirm in public what most of you know already – that CC is awesome. She's the type of kid who would in fact give you 3 grand, no questions asked, after a desperation 4 a.m. phone call from, say, an Indonesian jail cell. Or, as she did, give you a fistful of yen after a frantic phone call from the American consulate at 4 p.m., which is the same as 4 a.m. so far as Japanese banks are concerned. And then buy you beers all night to boot. So, props to CC.
Just a couple more funny things : at the airport in Seoul, there's an ad for SK Telecom, which is a pretty big company here. But the ad says: "SK: The Ubiquitous Leader." I don't think even Microsoft would have the balls to pull off that slogan.
And finally, for Wiley, a little drunken patriotism: so on my flight home, the pilot gave his announcements in Korean, Japanese, and English, and in English, he said that our current speed was five hundred MILES per hour. Yeah, that's right, miles. So basically, he was saying, suck it Brits, Kiwis, Canucks, Aussies, South Africans, and whoever else speaks English and deals in metric. Oh beautiful, for spacious skies…
By the way, I really do kind of want to write about airports. Fukuoka was my 8th in 2 months, and 12th this calendar year, both of which I believe are personal records. If I did write about airports here, would anybody other than Wiley read it? And this questions goes to the giraffe people as well. Answer in comments, yo.
A few random notes on my brief stay in japan:
I noticed, and maybe this is a new development, that when I flew to Japan on Monday morning, (okay, Sunday night in my book, since I didn't sleep and I left for the airport at 5 a.m. after winning the Madden Superbowl) that flights can be quite hair-raising and scary when you are sober. I mean, you are flying in this enormous (and I don't know what the deal with Korean Air is, but I was in row 40 yet I was on the wing. There must have been 900 people on this flight) plane, and it's an hour flight, so pretty much the whole time its either taking off or landing, which I'm used to on a 737, but on this behemoth of a plane (an Airbus, which I don't know much about. I think an A-300) it's all the more scary. But then, I discovered, on the return flight, on the same type of plane, in perhaps worse weather, the trip was an absolute beaute, and I wasn't remotely nervous. The difference? Well, on the return flight, I was absolutely hammered. I think I may be onto something here.
Fukuoka, by the way, has a fine airport, in my opinion. The international terminal was totally empty. My flight was the only one leaving from it. And in this case, international is like 400 miles. 2 cool things at the Fukuaka airport: there are two observation decks, outdoors-ish, so you can watch planes take off. Which, despite my problems with flying, I enjoy doing, because it re-assures me to see planes not crashing. Plus, though I could not find a bar, at least in the international terminal, I found something better. There were convenience stores that sold beers for like a dollar. And it's totally kosher to walk around the airport drinking them. At least, I assume it was. I mean, hell, they sell them past security, and you can't bring liquid on the plane, so where the hell else are you going to drink them? Plus, on top of that, the beers are 7% alcohol, and they sell them in weird flavors like lemonade and orange, so you can knock one back in like 20 seconds or so.
Don't get me wrong, I like beer, beer that tastes like beer, and I am totally opposed to the "flavored malt beverage" thing, like your Mike's Hard Lemonades and your Smirnoff Ices, but the Japanese have managed to get around all possible issues with such drinks and their effete nature by taking 5 key steps, in my opinion:
-They really do taste like lemonade, and lemonade is good
-They put a higher alcohol content in these than regular beer
-They make it the cheapest drink available
-This is key – they put it in cans – no queer yellow or cloudy liquid in a clear bottle
-They sell them for nothing at the fucking airport
Other funny things about Japan in general include the fact that you can't smoke while walking. It's the law. It's perfectly legal to stand on the street, pretty much anywhere, and smoke, but if you walk down the same street, it's illegal. CC told me it's because it goes against the Japanese notion of the group dynamic, which makes smoking in a restaurant or bar or with others on the street perfectly okay, but that walking down the street while smoking is going too much your own way, and it upsets the group dynamic, to the point where they actually made a law against it. So far as I'm concerned, this is the equivalent of the internet being legal, and porn being legal, but internet porn being illegal. I mean, doesn't walking and smoking go together like the internet and porn? And don't kill me for having a lame punchline here, I honestly was trying to make a point rather than set up a joke.
Speaking of CC – for anybody who has read this before, you know that I don't usually use this space to, ah, what's the opposite of make fun of people? But anyway, I just want to re-affirm in public what most of you know already – that CC is awesome. She's the type of kid who would in fact give you 3 grand, no questions asked, after a desperation 4 a.m. phone call from, say, an Indonesian jail cell. Or, as she did, give you a fistful of yen after a frantic phone call from the American consulate at 4 p.m., which is the same as 4 a.m. so far as Japanese banks are concerned. And then buy you beers all night to boot. So, props to CC.
Just a couple more funny things : at the airport in Seoul, there's an ad for SK Telecom, which is a pretty big company here. But the ad says: "SK: The Ubiquitous Leader." I don't think even Microsoft would have the balls to pull off that slogan.
And finally, for Wiley, a little drunken patriotism: so on my flight home, the pilot gave his announcements in Korean, Japanese, and English, and in English, he said that our current speed was five hundred MILES per hour. Yeah, that's right, miles. So basically, he was saying, suck it Brits, Kiwis, Canucks, Aussies, South Africans, and whoever else speaks English and deals in metric. Oh beautiful, for spacious skies…
By the way, I really do kind of want to write about airports. Fukuoka was my 8th in 2 months, and 12th this calendar year, both of which I believe are personal records. If I did write about airports here, would anybody other than Wiley read it? And this questions goes to the giraffe people as well. Answer in comments, yo.
Horse Shit
originally posted on 10/29/06
So, I'm pretty much on to the really annoying poverty period, that I suppose is inevitable any time you don't get paid for 43 days. Really, there's no amount of money that works for starting out such a streak, when you are taking a lump sum to a new country. I could have brought 10 grand with me, and I am fairly certain I would still be broke now. 12 more days to payday now, I'm fairly certain I can tough it out, ghetto food style, and with the assistance of lots of PS2.
Knowing that I am broke, PS2 was exactly my plan last night. I was walking home at around 6 p.m., fully ready for hours and hours of Madden action, and I was almost there when I ran into two fellow teachers. Who, of course, said to me the 6 most deadly words in the English language for the budget minded person in Seoul – "We're going to Itaewon. Wanna come?" Arrrr. I try to refuse this invitation, but realize I have little choice. After all, pretty much the one cardinal rule for those who do not own a cell phone is that you always go along with friends that you randomly bump into when they are on their way to the bars.
Off we went, first eating at a tiny Moroccan restaurant. Basically a one-man operation. 4 tables, one guy serving and cooking. Pretty impressive restaurateur as well. By my count, this guy was either fluent or damn close to it in English, Korean, French, Spanish, and Arabic, judging by his conversations with the rest of the clientele. Cool place, overall. Meanwhile, I still know a cool two Korean phrases – hello and thank you. I don't even know the standard excuse me, but judging from what I've seen of Seoul subway etiquette, there's no need to learn it.
Anyway, so the horse mask thing in my picture (pic omitted - but it was of my and 4 others in horse masks). Maybe this is the reason that I am broke, but I simply could not-not buy one. Itaewon is the one place in Seoul that cares about Halloween, and lots of people went all out with the costumes. But, we clearly beat them all. 5 people running around the Itaewon streets and bars wearing identical horse masks. As I waffled on whether to buy one, I said to my buddy that if I did, I'd wear it today, and probably never again. His response was, uh, more like every other day. So the five of us will meet up every couple of months or so to horse around. I think we need a camera crew.
So, I'm pretty much on to the really annoying poverty period, that I suppose is inevitable any time you don't get paid for 43 days. Really, there's no amount of money that works for starting out such a streak, when you are taking a lump sum to a new country. I could have brought 10 grand with me, and I am fairly certain I would still be broke now. 12 more days to payday now, I'm fairly certain I can tough it out, ghetto food style, and with the assistance of lots of PS2.
Knowing that I am broke, PS2 was exactly my plan last night. I was walking home at around 6 p.m., fully ready for hours and hours of Madden action, and I was almost there when I ran into two fellow teachers. Who, of course, said to me the 6 most deadly words in the English language for the budget minded person in Seoul – "We're going to Itaewon. Wanna come?" Arrrr. I try to refuse this invitation, but realize I have little choice. After all, pretty much the one cardinal rule for those who do not own a cell phone is that you always go along with friends that you randomly bump into when they are on their way to the bars.
Off we went, first eating at a tiny Moroccan restaurant. Basically a one-man operation. 4 tables, one guy serving and cooking. Pretty impressive restaurateur as well. By my count, this guy was either fluent or damn close to it in English, Korean, French, Spanish, and Arabic, judging by his conversations with the rest of the clientele. Cool place, overall. Meanwhile, I still know a cool two Korean phrases – hello and thank you. I don't even know the standard excuse me, but judging from what I've seen of Seoul subway etiquette, there's no need to learn it.
Anyway, so the horse mask thing in my picture (pic omitted - but it was of my and 4 others in horse masks). Maybe this is the reason that I am broke, but I simply could not-not buy one. Itaewon is the one place in Seoul that cares about Halloween, and lots of people went all out with the costumes. But, we clearly beat them all. 5 people running around the Itaewon streets and bars wearing identical horse masks. As I waffled on whether to buy one, I said to my buddy that if I did, I'd wear it today, and probably never again. His response was, uh, more like every other day. So the five of us will meet up every couple of months or so to horse around. I think we need a camera crew.
Indecision Clouds my Vision
originally posted on 11/4/06
First off, I need to point out that huge strides have been made in instant coffee since I last had it, probably in my Boy Scout days. This is fortunate, as it is a necessity here, if one is to drink coffee at home. The combination of lack of space for a coffee machine in my tiny apartment, and prohibitive cost of coffee machines here (they are all like $150, I haven't seen anyplace selling the classic American shitty $10 coffee machines that I have come to depend on) makes instant the only option.
Last night I went out with 3 other teachers to a local bar, a Brit, and Aussie, and a Canadian. We had a pretty enjoyable time, and all three are very cool. Boring info there, I know. We talked about various travel things, as the three of them are all very well traveled, and I'd like to think I do all right myself, for an American at least. All three had been to Thailand and Hong Kong and Singapore and other places like that still seem exotic, even from Seoul. It has long been the common wisdom that Americans don't travel enough, and though this did not come up last night, I am sure the other three all think this. As do I, largely, far too few Americans have passports, but then again, Americans get the shortest vacation time of any industrialized people, and it's hard to see much of Europe or Asia or South America with a week off, and far easier to go to Vegas or Orlando and "see" all three.
What struck me as quite strange though, and perhaps this is an international phenomenon, is that the Canadian has never been to Toronto, the Aussie has never been to Sydney, and the Brit has spent less time in London than I have. So, I don't know, make what you will of that. I am not talking shit, because, as I said, all of these people are very cool and I am glad they are working at my school.
So anyway, everybody was going home at 2 or so, and I wasn't really into going home. I bought a bottle of soju and took to the streets with the pod, kicking it old school. The problem with soju, of course, is that you should never start drinking it after having a couple beers. It just makes you nutty. You would think I'd have learned this by now, but it just seemed like the thing to do.
I walked down a random large street near my house that I had not been down before, rocking the pod and interested to see what was around. I ended up in a random party zone, not far down the road. I had no fucking clue where I was, but it was 2:30 or 3, and this one random street was jammed with cars and cabs, and there were a ton of people on the streets and like 7 million bars around. So, I felt I'd walked the right way, basically. Another weird thing about Korea – on this little party street, there were all sorts of businesses open that you wouldn't expect to be open at 3 a.m, like clothing stores and junk stores. Conversely, there were all sorts of businesses that you would expect to be open, at least they would be in Chicago, like a Dunkin Donuts and a Burger King, that were closed. One bar, called the Stop Here, (I didn't, it looked shady) had its hours printed on the door. 6 p.m. until 11 a.m. Even I am not hard core enough to be out boozing still at, say 10:30 a.m.
I headed to a bar with seats in the windows that overlook the street, so that I could watch all the chaos of a Seoul party district from a prime vantage point. Plus, a fairly large beer was 2.50, and it came with these weird, addictive crunch noodle snack things that I do not know what are called, but they serve them in a lot of Korean bars. The waitress then brought me a tray of peanuts, and said, proudly, "nuts." Nuts indeed.
Anyway, I left the bar, still with the soju in tow, completely trashed, and I started feeling the urge to rock out, which, thankfully, I haven't done in public in some time, probably due to owning a car. Just then, the pod selected Faith No More's "Falling to Pieces," and it was no longer up to me. It was time to rock. So, it was 4 a.m, still lots of people out, I'm absolutely hammered, walking in the general home direction, in a part of the city I had never been to before, surrounded by people that I will never see again. So I wail along with Mike Patton, and even throw in a few random dance moves. I gotta say, it was fun. Fortunately, the road home was deserted of people, as it goes through a large construction project so there's no retail or residential anywhere around. I was able to sing like a madman the whole way back, until I got into my neighborhood, where I immediately stopped. Acting like a jackass in front of scores of drunken strangers or in a deserted area is one thing, but I didn't want to do so within earshot of the neighbors.
Post note, so I was walking to the grocery store today (after waking up at 3 p.m.) and I had the pod again, and maybe the third song it randomly picks out of 3500 odd songs, is of course, "Falling to Pieces." I was tempted to rock out once again, but the moment passed. I think I'm staying home tonight.
First off, I need to point out that huge strides have been made in instant coffee since I last had it, probably in my Boy Scout days. This is fortunate, as it is a necessity here, if one is to drink coffee at home. The combination of lack of space for a coffee machine in my tiny apartment, and prohibitive cost of coffee machines here (they are all like $150, I haven't seen anyplace selling the classic American shitty $10 coffee machines that I have come to depend on) makes instant the only option.
Last night I went out with 3 other teachers to a local bar, a Brit, and Aussie, and a Canadian. We had a pretty enjoyable time, and all three are very cool. Boring info there, I know. We talked about various travel things, as the three of them are all very well traveled, and I'd like to think I do all right myself, for an American at least. All three had been to Thailand and Hong Kong and Singapore and other places like that still seem exotic, even from Seoul. It has long been the common wisdom that Americans don't travel enough, and though this did not come up last night, I am sure the other three all think this. As do I, largely, far too few Americans have passports, but then again, Americans get the shortest vacation time of any industrialized people, and it's hard to see much of Europe or Asia or South America with a week off, and far easier to go to Vegas or Orlando and "see" all three.
What struck me as quite strange though, and perhaps this is an international phenomenon, is that the Canadian has never been to Toronto, the Aussie has never been to Sydney, and the Brit has spent less time in London than I have. So, I don't know, make what you will of that. I am not talking shit, because, as I said, all of these people are very cool and I am glad they are working at my school.
So anyway, everybody was going home at 2 or so, and I wasn't really into going home. I bought a bottle of soju and took to the streets with the pod, kicking it old school. The problem with soju, of course, is that you should never start drinking it after having a couple beers. It just makes you nutty. You would think I'd have learned this by now, but it just seemed like the thing to do.
I walked down a random large street near my house that I had not been down before, rocking the pod and interested to see what was around. I ended up in a random party zone, not far down the road. I had no fucking clue where I was, but it was 2:30 or 3, and this one random street was jammed with cars and cabs, and there were a ton of people on the streets and like 7 million bars around. So, I felt I'd walked the right way, basically. Another weird thing about Korea – on this little party street, there were all sorts of businesses open that you wouldn't expect to be open at 3 a.m, like clothing stores and junk stores. Conversely, there were all sorts of businesses that you would expect to be open, at least they would be in Chicago, like a Dunkin Donuts and a Burger King, that were closed. One bar, called the Stop Here, (I didn't, it looked shady) had its hours printed on the door. 6 p.m. until 11 a.m. Even I am not hard core enough to be out boozing still at, say 10:30 a.m.
I headed to a bar with seats in the windows that overlook the street, so that I could watch all the chaos of a Seoul party district from a prime vantage point. Plus, a fairly large beer was 2.50, and it came with these weird, addictive crunch noodle snack things that I do not know what are called, but they serve them in a lot of Korean bars. The waitress then brought me a tray of peanuts, and said, proudly, "nuts." Nuts indeed.
Anyway, I left the bar, still with the soju in tow, completely trashed, and I started feeling the urge to rock out, which, thankfully, I haven't done in public in some time, probably due to owning a car. Just then, the pod selected Faith No More's "Falling to Pieces," and it was no longer up to me. It was time to rock. So, it was 4 a.m, still lots of people out, I'm absolutely hammered, walking in the general home direction, in a part of the city I had never been to before, surrounded by people that I will never see again. So I wail along with Mike Patton, and even throw in a few random dance moves. I gotta say, it was fun. Fortunately, the road home was deserted of people, as it goes through a large construction project so there's no retail or residential anywhere around. I was able to sing like a madman the whole way back, until I got into my neighborhood, where I immediately stopped. Acting like a jackass in front of scores of drunken strangers or in a deserted area is one thing, but I didn't want to do so within earshot of the neighbors.
Post note, so I was walking to the grocery store today (after waking up at 3 p.m.) and I had the pod again, and maybe the third song it randomly picks out of 3500 odd songs, is of course, "Falling to Pieces." I was tempted to rock out once again, but the moment passed. I think I'm staying home tonight.
Money
originally posted on 11/13/06
So, I finally got paid this weekend. So briefly, I have money. Which is awesome. Basically, this was the "Ted Kennedy" weekend, where I am, of course, throwing money around all over the place. Big change from last weekend, the "Pat Buchanan" weekend, fiscally, at least. I am sure it's been said before in more eloquent ways, but in my opinion, the best part about having money is the ability to buy random crap, and of course real food.
I kicked off the Ted Kennedy weekend with a bang, of course, going out on Friday until 6 a.m, where I ultimately ended up drinking in a soju tent late at night. Soju tents, for those that don't know, are pretty much random heated tents that are set up all over the place on Korean streets, and I'm not sure if they ever close. Ours was still hopping when we left. At soju tents, they serve random Korean food, soju, and beer. Nothing else, really. And, I probably should have learned this by now, but soju at 5 a.m. after a night out drinking beer is a bad, bad idea. It was fun though, amongst those sitting at my table (in a tent, remember, on cheap, crappy plastic stools) were two up-and coming, drop dead gorgeous Korean pop stars. And for some reason, they actually talked to me, despite not speaking much English, and I was basically thinking, wait, why are you talking to me? Do you have any idea how hot you are? If this were New York or Chicago or LA, no way these girls are talking to me in a makeshift street bar at 5 a.m., and if it were any other city in the U.S., they wouldn't be there to begin with, since there are no girls that hot in, say, Pittsburgh.
My quest to become a Korean cell phone (handa pone) owner has thus far been fruitless. So far, I just can't figure it out. The language barrier is huge in this sort of thing, but I figure, I have sold many a phone to people who speak no English, so how hard can it be the other way around? Well, apparently I need a Korean to go in with me, or to get a social security number here, just to get a damn pre-paid phone, the same type that anybody can buy in the U.S. or Europe at 7-11 or wherever. This has probably been my biggest cultural difficulty so far, this phone thing, which is especially weird to me considering the fact that I know more about the cell phone biz in the US than anybody would ever care to, but here, I am basically retarded.
So, I finally got paid this weekend. So briefly, I have money. Which is awesome. Basically, this was the "Ted Kennedy" weekend, where I am, of course, throwing money around all over the place. Big change from last weekend, the "Pat Buchanan" weekend, fiscally, at least. I am sure it's been said before in more eloquent ways, but in my opinion, the best part about having money is the ability to buy random crap, and of course real food.
I kicked off the Ted Kennedy weekend with a bang, of course, going out on Friday until 6 a.m, where I ultimately ended up drinking in a soju tent late at night. Soju tents, for those that don't know, are pretty much random heated tents that are set up all over the place on Korean streets, and I'm not sure if they ever close. Ours was still hopping when we left. At soju tents, they serve random Korean food, soju, and beer. Nothing else, really. And, I probably should have learned this by now, but soju at 5 a.m. after a night out drinking beer is a bad, bad idea. It was fun though, amongst those sitting at my table (in a tent, remember, on cheap, crappy plastic stools) were two up-and coming, drop dead gorgeous Korean pop stars. And for some reason, they actually talked to me, despite not speaking much English, and I was basically thinking, wait, why are you talking to me? Do you have any idea how hot you are? If this were New York or Chicago or LA, no way these girls are talking to me in a makeshift street bar at 5 a.m., and if it were any other city in the U.S., they wouldn't be there to begin with, since there are no girls that hot in, say, Pittsburgh.
My quest to become a Korean cell phone (handa pone) owner has thus far been fruitless. So far, I just can't figure it out. The language barrier is huge in this sort of thing, but I figure, I have sold many a phone to people who speak no English, so how hard can it be the other way around? Well, apparently I need a Korean to go in with me, or to get a social security number here, just to get a damn pre-paid phone, the same type that anybody can buy in the U.S. or Europe at 7-11 or wherever. This has probably been my biggest cultural difficulty so far, this phone thing, which is especially weird to me considering the fact that I know more about the cell phone biz in the US than anybody would ever care to, but here, I am basically retarded.
Random Korean Shit (Seoul Patches? No, that sucks))
originally posted on 11/23/06
First off, props to Wiley. I never thought I'd start a blog like that. I know I've talked a lot of shit over the years about his refusal to leave Lawrence under any circumstances short of being kidnapped under a ruse promising North Lawrence titty bars, but he's actually traveled a lot this year, and he's coming to hang out in Korea in a few months. Does this mean an end to talking shit? Of course not, I'll just have to come up with something new to make fun of Wiley for. Should take upwards of 5 seconds.
I was on the Seoul subway the other night, on my way to going out in Itaewon, when some Blonde Redhead song came on the pod, you know, the one with the weird, dreamlike background music under the strange yet soothing high pitched voice. Okay, that's all their songs. But anyway, I sat down in one of the seats in the end of the car, which is reserved for elderly, disabled, and pregnant passengers. Keep in mind, the train car had no standing passengers, as it was not very full, but was just full enough that there was nowhere to sit in the normal seats without being squeezed between two Koreans on seats that are not really designed for the American ass.
Two middle-aged Korean guys in suits were sitting across from me, also in the "reserved" seats, and one of them pointed at the sign while staring at me. I shrugged, and gave a glance that tried to say, "I will get up should this seat be needed by somebody in the elderly, disabled, or pregnant condition, but there are no standees on this train right now, plus, it does not look as if you yourself fall under the umbrella of the particular maladies that these seats are designed for, yet you sit in one, so fuck off." It's quite difficult to convey that with a look and a shrug, though I presume it would have been much more difficult to verbalize this, given the language barrier. Had this been the El, the finger would have done the job well, but since this is a culture I do not fully understand, I did not want to resort to these measures.
After a stop passed, the suited man once again gestured toward the sign, so at this point, as a foreigner here, I felt I had no choice but to oblige. Who knows, maybe this seemingly able-bodied businessman had some sort of hidden disability, maybe a colostomy bag tucked in his pant leg or something. And maybe it is taboo to ever sit in a "handicapped" seat on a Korean subway under any circumstance, like an American handicapped parking space, rather than like a handicapped bathroom stall, particularly the ones in a large airplane that are anybody's first choice.
I walked through the train car, and again, there was really nowhere to sit, so I planned to stand for the rest of the trip, which was, of course, not a big deal. I stood near the other side of the train car, where there was another series of handicapped seats, with a pregnant woman sitting on one side and an old (Korean, of course) man sitting on the other. The old man saw me standing, and gestured for me to sit on his handicapped bench, which I did. It was only another minute or so until my stop arrived, and when it did, I walked to the door. The old man looked up at me. I nodded at him, and he nodded as well. I walked off the train, and the Blonde Redhead song ended. All of this happened throughout the one song, and not a single word by any party was spoken throughout.
Speaking of subways, so I've had two pretty scary dreams over the course of the last two nights. Last night, I dreamt I was in some sort of precarious subway situation, where I had for some reason left the train and was on the tracks, and had to make some sort of flying leap across the third rail, which was of course shooting sparks, before the oncoming train hit me. Two nights ago, I dreamt that the school I work for was going to make me and the other teachers start selling Sprint home long distance to the student's parents, and that we would have a quota, and it would be the focus of what we were doing from now on – long distance sales first, teaching second. No question which one scared me more.
Last funny note, and I love this sort of language stuff, cognates I guess. Cell phones, as I mentioned before, are called handa pones here. I bought an international phone card last week, and the guy at the convenience store I bought it from said, "yes, with this, you can pone the U.S."
Final side note, as I type this, right now, I have the pod on shuffle, so of course, randomly, out of 3500 whatever songs, it's playing the same Blonde Redhead song. probably the second time I've heard it, including during my earlier story, in, I don't know, 6 months. Said it before and I'll say it again -god lives in the iPod.
First off, props to Wiley. I never thought I'd start a blog like that. I know I've talked a lot of shit over the years about his refusal to leave Lawrence under any circumstances short of being kidnapped under a ruse promising North Lawrence titty bars, but he's actually traveled a lot this year, and he's coming to hang out in Korea in a few months. Does this mean an end to talking shit? Of course not, I'll just have to come up with something new to make fun of Wiley for. Should take upwards of 5 seconds.
I was on the Seoul subway the other night, on my way to going out in Itaewon, when some Blonde Redhead song came on the pod, you know, the one with the weird, dreamlike background music under the strange yet soothing high pitched voice. Okay, that's all their songs. But anyway, I sat down in one of the seats in the end of the car, which is reserved for elderly, disabled, and pregnant passengers. Keep in mind, the train car had no standing passengers, as it was not very full, but was just full enough that there was nowhere to sit in the normal seats without being squeezed between two Koreans on seats that are not really designed for the American ass.
Two middle-aged Korean guys in suits were sitting across from me, also in the "reserved" seats, and one of them pointed at the sign while staring at me. I shrugged, and gave a glance that tried to say, "I will get up should this seat be needed by somebody in the elderly, disabled, or pregnant condition, but there are no standees on this train right now, plus, it does not look as if you yourself fall under the umbrella of the particular maladies that these seats are designed for, yet you sit in one, so fuck off." It's quite difficult to convey that with a look and a shrug, though I presume it would have been much more difficult to verbalize this, given the language barrier. Had this been the El, the finger would have done the job well, but since this is a culture I do not fully understand, I did not want to resort to these measures.
After a stop passed, the suited man once again gestured toward the sign, so at this point, as a foreigner here, I felt I had no choice but to oblige. Who knows, maybe this seemingly able-bodied businessman had some sort of hidden disability, maybe a colostomy bag tucked in his pant leg or something. And maybe it is taboo to ever sit in a "handicapped" seat on a Korean subway under any circumstance, like an American handicapped parking space, rather than like a handicapped bathroom stall, particularly the ones in a large airplane that are anybody's first choice.
I walked through the train car, and again, there was really nowhere to sit, so I planned to stand for the rest of the trip, which was, of course, not a big deal. I stood near the other side of the train car, where there was another series of handicapped seats, with a pregnant woman sitting on one side and an old (Korean, of course) man sitting on the other. The old man saw me standing, and gestured for me to sit on his handicapped bench, which I did. It was only another minute or so until my stop arrived, and when it did, I walked to the door. The old man looked up at me. I nodded at him, and he nodded as well. I walked off the train, and the Blonde Redhead song ended. All of this happened throughout the one song, and not a single word by any party was spoken throughout.
Speaking of subways, so I've had two pretty scary dreams over the course of the last two nights. Last night, I dreamt I was in some sort of precarious subway situation, where I had for some reason left the train and was on the tracks, and had to make some sort of flying leap across the third rail, which was of course shooting sparks, before the oncoming train hit me. Two nights ago, I dreamt that the school I work for was going to make me and the other teachers start selling Sprint home long distance to the student's parents, and that we would have a quota, and it would be the focus of what we were doing from now on – long distance sales first, teaching second. No question which one scared me more.
Last funny note, and I love this sort of language stuff, cognates I guess. Cell phones, as I mentioned before, are called handa pones here. I bought an international phone card last week, and the guy at the convenience store I bought it from said, "yes, with this, you can pone the U.S."
Final side note, as I type this, right now, I have the pod on shuffle, so of course, randomly, out of 3500 whatever songs, it's playing the same Blonde Redhead song. probably the second time I've heard it, including during my earlier story, in, I don't know, 6 months. Said it before and I'll say it again -god lives in the iPod.
You Must be Ronery
originally posted on 11/27/06
So I finally made my first trip, not counting the Japan run that the company sent me on. I'm talking solid, old school, show up at the train station and buy a ticket for the next train leaving (turned out to be Daegu), skin of your teeth travel.
I cruised on the KTX train (300 km/hour, I think that's still a cool 200 mph in real life) down to Daegu, and found myself a top quality nearby love motel. The Korean love motel thing, by the way is brilliant. I checked in at like 4:30 p.m. or so, and there was an old couple that clearly owned the place, behind the desk sound asleep, whom I was forced to awaken. The hotel is like 2 minutes from the main train station in town, and cost $30, which just doesn't happen in the U.S., at least outside the hostel-YMCA realm. Plus, it had features that I am not used to in my own crappy studio, such as a piping hot shower that stayed hot for longer than 10 seconds, and a real bed. Scratch that, a circular bed. Yeah, that's right. And it was as awesome as I imagined. I am totally getting one, whenever it comes to pass that I have some sort of place to live. On top of that, the love motel doesn't bother you in the morning, so I was free to sleep until 1 p.m. after a long night out in Daegu without somebody banging on my door at 10 or 11 a.m. demanding that I check out or buy another day.
Speaking of my long night out – it was a wash for most of the time. I couldn't find a proper bar anywhere. Daegu has a really cool pedestrian area downtown with a million stores open late (and all the stores are of the same type on the same block, like, the adidas store is next to the Puma store is next to the Airwalk store, and one block is only cell phone stores, and one is only puppy stores – presumably for pets rather than food) but every bar I went into turned out to be a hof. I like hofs, but they aren't any fun on your own. Basically, a hof is the standard drinking establishment in Korea, with table service, cushy chairs, and an awesome button on your table that you press when you want more beer, or food, or whatever. But, there is no actual bar to sit at, so it's really only fun with other people. It's kind of like sitting at a table drinking by yourself at, say, Red Lobster. Not that I've done that.
As I was on the verge of calling it a night, I happened upon the "Hip Hop Club" or something like that, which, in the traditional Korean bar-naming style, has absolutely nothing to do with hip hop, and they were playing the same shitty K-pop, J-pop, and U.S. pop that every other bar does. Anyway, so this place was actually a proper bar, so I bought a beer and started chatting with the people there. Amongst them were an American dude from upstate New York somewhere, a couple Irish girls, a Korean-American-Korean guy who moved recently from Baltimore (and actually lived like 2 miles from my mom and knows all the same bars I do) and a knockout Korean girl who seemed to be hitting on me. So, of course, I focused on that. Toasts were made, White Russians were downed, and this girl kept talking to me, so times were good. Then, she had to leave. I think I attempted to leave with her, but for some reason this plan didn't work. Later, I was talking to the American dude from upstate, and he seemed insistent on the fact that I somehow busted up somebody's game, or that she was involved with somebody at the bar, and I caused a rift between them. Regardless, I'm actually pretty proud of myself, that in what could well be the only night I ever spend in Daegu, Korea, my drunken shenanigans brought the drama. Anyway, if my actions did result in anybody getting hurt without me realizing, then I hope it was that guy from upstate, he seemed like kind of a douche.
I wasn't only in Daegu to booze, I did go out and do some interesting, cultural, temple in a mountain type of shit too, but I don't feel like writing about it. I will say though, I finally ate bibimbap, at a random Korean restaurant on the mountain (which called itself "good restaurant," who was I to doubt them?) and it was awesome, and if you haven't had it, you should.
I took the express bus home – it's half the price of the bullet train, and was actually pretty comfortable. I haven't done the Greyhound, and I hope I never will, but I am sure the Korean express bus is much better. The seats recline pretty far, and I'm fairly certain that the shadiest person on the bus, by far, was me.
The bus had a stopover on the way, at some random highway service area reserved just for these buses. A Korean guy from a different bus who spoke decent English came up to me to bum a cigarette. We chatted for a bit, and I told him I was new in Korea and teaching and blah blah blah. He said, "You must be ronery." Shockingly, that wasn't a joke set-up, as I've learned to understand the r/l thing much better, since in written Korean, it's the same letter.
I told him I wasn't, and that I have my fellow teachers that I hang out with and that I talk to and see every day, but it did get me noticing things, things I guess I have noticed before.
Like the hof thing. This is the Korean way, you go out with people you know, and have fun with your group at your table, rather than the old, "rugged individualistic" American/western style bar, where you can go on your own, sit at the bar, meet people, make your own fun, and if needed, bring the drama. But, there is Itaewon here in Seoul, which has tons of western-style bars, so I have that avenue for going out alone. Or the restaurant thing. It wasn't fear of unknown food or love of Burger King (which, really I don't care for, yet have had more times in the last 2 months than probably the last 5 years) that kept me away, it's that Korean restaurants are social. Galbi (Korean barbecue that you cook at your table) is basically un-doable solo, all of the meals are designed to be shared. Even bibimbap, which can be eaten alone, comes with like 11 side dishes (banchan), so you feel pretty silly at a table by yourself when they bring out the tray, which is probably 4 feet in diameter. But, there's the grocery store, and McDonald's, and the delivery chicken place down the street, so there's plenty of options for eating alone, which is pretty much what I'm used to doing anyway.
Then I went to work today. I spoke to a whopping 2 other teachers for maybe a combined 45 seconds, and then the two teachers that live in the next building over that I walk home with every day took off without me. So, I lost my usual daily 5 minutes of social time with people that A) speak fluent English, and B) were born before 1995. Which basically means that the, I don't know, 25 minutes a week that I spend talking to contemporaries is in jeopardy. Add to that, I generally go out with some teachers on Friday nights, and due to my lack of cell phone (at least that's what I keep telling myself, since I do have email and a home phone) that's the last I see of my co-worker buddies for the rest of the weekend. Saturday night means going out on my own, and though I have gotten quite good at making my own fun here, and have written a story or two to prove it, it's work too, yeah? I still have to start from square one with random strangers in Itaewon bars every weekend in a sort of reverse-Groundhog Day scenario where it's an endless stream of new people, but I get to tell my same best stories over and over again, charming new audiences every weekend, never to see them again.
Sorry to dump on you there, readers, and I'm guessing I'll probably dump this blog entry as well before long. It's just, it's Monday, it's November, it's rainy, I'm drinking soju, and fucking Craig Ferguson is on. And it's a re-run. That I've seen. This particular "type" of blog, you know, where I talk about thoughts and feelings and stupid crap like that, will not become a pattern. I promise to return to dick and fart jokes as soon as possible.
One last note before I go – how about those Kansas Basketball Jayhawks? I wish I could have seen that shit. Needless to say, it was a KU shirt day at school today, just to explain to 50 kids what a Jayhawk is.
So I finally made my first trip, not counting the Japan run that the company sent me on. I'm talking solid, old school, show up at the train station and buy a ticket for the next train leaving (turned out to be Daegu), skin of your teeth travel.
I cruised on the KTX train (300 km/hour, I think that's still a cool 200 mph in real life) down to Daegu, and found myself a top quality nearby love motel. The Korean love motel thing, by the way is brilliant. I checked in at like 4:30 p.m. or so, and there was an old couple that clearly owned the place, behind the desk sound asleep, whom I was forced to awaken. The hotel is like 2 minutes from the main train station in town, and cost $30, which just doesn't happen in the U.S., at least outside the hostel-YMCA realm. Plus, it had features that I am not used to in my own crappy studio, such as a piping hot shower that stayed hot for longer than 10 seconds, and a real bed. Scratch that, a circular bed. Yeah, that's right. And it was as awesome as I imagined. I am totally getting one, whenever it comes to pass that I have some sort of place to live. On top of that, the love motel doesn't bother you in the morning, so I was free to sleep until 1 p.m. after a long night out in Daegu without somebody banging on my door at 10 or 11 a.m. demanding that I check out or buy another day.
Speaking of my long night out – it was a wash for most of the time. I couldn't find a proper bar anywhere. Daegu has a really cool pedestrian area downtown with a million stores open late (and all the stores are of the same type on the same block, like, the adidas store is next to the Puma store is next to the Airwalk store, and one block is only cell phone stores, and one is only puppy stores – presumably for pets rather than food) but every bar I went into turned out to be a hof. I like hofs, but they aren't any fun on your own. Basically, a hof is the standard drinking establishment in Korea, with table service, cushy chairs, and an awesome button on your table that you press when you want more beer, or food, or whatever. But, there is no actual bar to sit at, so it's really only fun with other people. It's kind of like sitting at a table drinking by yourself at, say, Red Lobster. Not that I've done that.
As I was on the verge of calling it a night, I happened upon the "Hip Hop Club" or something like that, which, in the traditional Korean bar-naming style, has absolutely nothing to do with hip hop, and they were playing the same shitty K-pop, J-pop, and U.S. pop that every other bar does. Anyway, so this place was actually a proper bar, so I bought a beer and started chatting with the people there. Amongst them were an American dude from upstate New York somewhere, a couple Irish girls, a Korean-American-Korean guy who moved recently from Baltimore (and actually lived like 2 miles from my mom and knows all the same bars I do) and a knockout Korean girl who seemed to be hitting on me. So, of course, I focused on that. Toasts were made, White Russians were downed, and this girl kept talking to me, so times were good. Then, she had to leave. I think I attempted to leave with her, but for some reason this plan didn't work. Later, I was talking to the American dude from upstate, and he seemed insistent on the fact that I somehow busted up somebody's game, or that she was involved with somebody at the bar, and I caused a rift between them. Regardless, I'm actually pretty proud of myself, that in what could well be the only night I ever spend in Daegu, Korea, my drunken shenanigans brought the drama. Anyway, if my actions did result in anybody getting hurt without me realizing, then I hope it was that guy from upstate, he seemed like kind of a douche.
I wasn't only in Daegu to booze, I did go out and do some interesting, cultural, temple in a mountain type of shit too, but I don't feel like writing about it. I will say though, I finally ate bibimbap, at a random Korean restaurant on the mountain (which called itself "good restaurant," who was I to doubt them?) and it was awesome, and if you haven't had it, you should.
I took the express bus home – it's half the price of the bullet train, and was actually pretty comfortable. I haven't done the Greyhound, and I hope I never will, but I am sure the Korean express bus is much better. The seats recline pretty far, and I'm fairly certain that the shadiest person on the bus, by far, was me.
The bus had a stopover on the way, at some random highway service area reserved just for these buses. A Korean guy from a different bus who spoke decent English came up to me to bum a cigarette. We chatted for a bit, and I told him I was new in Korea and teaching and blah blah blah. He said, "You must be ronery." Shockingly, that wasn't a joke set-up, as I've learned to understand the r/l thing much better, since in written Korean, it's the same letter.
I told him I wasn't, and that I have my fellow teachers that I hang out with and that I talk to and see every day, but it did get me noticing things, things I guess I have noticed before.
Like the hof thing. This is the Korean way, you go out with people you know, and have fun with your group at your table, rather than the old, "rugged individualistic" American/western style bar, where you can go on your own, sit at the bar, meet people, make your own fun, and if needed, bring the drama. But, there is Itaewon here in Seoul, which has tons of western-style bars, so I have that avenue for going out alone. Or the restaurant thing. It wasn't fear of unknown food or love of Burger King (which, really I don't care for, yet have had more times in the last 2 months than probably the last 5 years) that kept me away, it's that Korean restaurants are social. Galbi (Korean barbecue that you cook at your table) is basically un-doable solo, all of the meals are designed to be shared. Even bibimbap, which can be eaten alone, comes with like 11 side dishes (banchan), so you feel pretty silly at a table by yourself when they bring out the tray, which is probably 4 feet in diameter. But, there's the grocery store, and McDonald's, and the delivery chicken place down the street, so there's plenty of options for eating alone, which is pretty much what I'm used to doing anyway.
Then I went to work today. I spoke to a whopping 2 other teachers for maybe a combined 45 seconds, and then the two teachers that live in the next building over that I walk home with every day took off without me. So, I lost my usual daily 5 minutes of social time with people that A) speak fluent English, and B) were born before 1995. Which basically means that the, I don't know, 25 minutes a week that I spend talking to contemporaries is in jeopardy. Add to that, I generally go out with some teachers on Friday nights, and due to my lack of cell phone (at least that's what I keep telling myself, since I do have email and a home phone) that's the last I see of my co-worker buddies for the rest of the weekend. Saturday night means going out on my own, and though I have gotten quite good at making my own fun here, and have written a story or two to prove it, it's work too, yeah? I still have to start from square one with random strangers in Itaewon bars every weekend in a sort of reverse-Groundhog Day scenario where it's an endless stream of new people, but I get to tell my same best stories over and over again, charming new audiences every weekend, never to see them again.
Sorry to dump on you there, readers, and I'm guessing I'll probably dump this blog entry as well before long. It's just, it's Monday, it's November, it's rainy, I'm drinking soju, and fucking Craig Ferguson is on. And it's a re-run. That I've seen. This particular "type" of blog, you know, where I talk about thoughts and feelings and stupid crap like that, will not become a pattern. I promise to return to dick and fart jokes as soon as possible.
One last note before I go – how about those Kansas Basketball Jayhawks? I wish I could have seen that shit. Needless to say, it was a KU shirt day at school today, just to explain to 50 kids what a Jayhawk is.
Da Club, Yo
originally posted on 12/14/06
So, I headed to the club last weekend, with a few co-worker friends. We went to Hongdae, a hip, clubby area in western Seoul, and a place that is quite a departure from my usual comfortable drinking confines of Itaewon. Hongdae seems to have actual hipsters there, a bit of a Park Slope / Wicker Park kind of vibe, with all the good and bad that this entails (good, like, really hot girls, decent music in a lot of bars; bad like paying 5 bucks for a 12 ounce bottle of Cass, the Korean equivalent to PBR, even in non-hip bars with fat waitresses. At least there's no spock rockers. Then again, in Korea there's no need for black hair dye.) So, quite different than Itaewon and it's non-ending streak of Mos Isley Cantinas that somehow work despite making no sense at all.
I am not a club kid, not by any means, as anybody reading this already knows. I'm a bar guy, preferably of the dive variety, though I have deviated to clubs from time to time since my first club adventures at DV8 in Seattle, probably right around exactly 10 years ago. And, throughout my checkered club history, I have never gotten it. Not it as in "the deed," although that is true as well club-wise, but gotten the club thing at all. I don't understand it. Nothing makes sense, it's loud, the music is often horrible, and the light effects are usually worth about 4 extra beers on the drunk scale.
Add to that, I have no chance at these places. None. I know that my game is the subject of ridicule, and deservedly so, but putting me in the club with the idea of meeting girls is like taking a club-footed blind retarded guy, throwing him in a straight jacket, and expecting him to be able to kickbox. As for me, in the regular bar scene, my only hope is to hit the right level of drunkenness (thus requiring a dive's cheap beer and hooch) in a bar with music set at conversational tones so that I can crack a few jokes for a girl at the right level of drunkenness (passed out.) At the club, the only determining factors in getting girls are how you are dressed (which I suppose I could fix) and how well you dance. I have a cool two or three dance moves that make for pretty good jokes – one I call the helicopter backpack, plus I do a mean start the lawnmower, but these do me no good in the club, as it's too fucking loud to tell anybody the joke anyway, and if I can't do that, I just look, well, like a clubfooted blind retarded guy in a straight jacket trying to kickbox. Which I don't think wins over the ladies.
The other thing that clubs seem to come down to is blind luck, and you know that's not going my way. For example, I was sitting on a stool outside the dance floor. Some hot girl game up to me and said hi. At least I think it was hi, it was of course too fucking loud to actually hear. I responded in kind. She then walked to the guy sitting at the next stool, said hi to him as well, and then started randomly and vigorously making out with him. I am convinced that my only crime here was sitting on the less lucky stool.
Anyway, if the club thing happens again, and god knows it will whether I want it to or not, I'll be better prepared. I went out today and finally bought some shoes, to replace the ragged, hole-ravaged shell tops that have served me well for the last two years or so. And, for what I lack in aesthetic style, I think I make up for it a bit in international variety. In fact, as I sit here typing this, I am wearing shoes I bought today in Seoul, jeans I bought in Chicago, a shirt I bought in Paris, an undershirt I bought in Lawrence, a jacket I bought in Munich, and a hat I bought in Venice. Which, admittedly, is a 12,000 mile road that still leads to a look somewhere between Salvation Army and Target.
One other note I want to make before I end this blog about dance clubs and shopping and begin writing the next installment about, you know, hair styles and celebrity gossip – er, I mean, eat a steak and have heterosexual sex with a girl – the design of urban department stores. Department stores in Seoul, much like any in Manhattan or Paris or Chicago between Belmont and Roosevelt, are vertical. Meaning, they are generally several different floors, no fewer than 5. Now, I understand that females dominate the retail space, as each department store generally has at least 5 or six floors devoted to chick shit and one floor, tops, with men's clothing. That's fine. I understand that girls are way more into shopping and what have you, stereotypically speaking, and I for one hate the mall and want to leave as soon as possible. So why is it, at every one of these stores that the one floor that sells men's wear is always on the fifth floor or higher? Why must I ride through several floors of escalators through all the chick shit to get to what I want, when all I want to do is get in and out as fast as fucking possible? I know there's the elevator too, but that's even worse, since by law, every department store elevator everywhere must stop at every floor every time. Would it be so hard to put the guy shit on the ground level, or even in the basement, so that I can get out of the store in under 10 minutes? I mean, with 9 floors of women's shit, the ladies are going to be cruising multiple floors to begin with, so why not just start them out on floor 2? And yes, I do actually have real problems, yet I choose to take time out of my day to complain about riding too many escalators.
So, I headed to the club last weekend, with a few co-worker friends. We went to Hongdae, a hip, clubby area in western Seoul, and a place that is quite a departure from my usual comfortable drinking confines of Itaewon. Hongdae seems to have actual hipsters there, a bit of a Park Slope / Wicker Park kind of vibe, with all the good and bad that this entails (good, like, really hot girls, decent music in a lot of bars; bad like paying 5 bucks for a 12 ounce bottle of Cass, the Korean equivalent to PBR, even in non-hip bars with fat waitresses. At least there's no spock rockers. Then again, in Korea there's no need for black hair dye.) So, quite different than Itaewon and it's non-ending streak of Mos Isley Cantinas that somehow work despite making no sense at all.
I am not a club kid, not by any means, as anybody reading this already knows. I'm a bar guy, preferably of the dive variety, though I have deviated to clubs from time to time since my first club adventures at DV8 in Seattle, probably right around exactly 10 years ago. And, throughout my checkered club history, I have never gotten it. Not it as in "the deed," although that is true as well club-wise, but gotten the club thing at all. I don't understand it. Nothing makes sense, it's loud, the music is often horrible, and the light effects are usually worth about 4 extra beers on the drunk scale.
Add to that, I have no chance at these places. None. I know that my game is the subject of ridicule, and deservedly so, but putting me in the club with the idea of meeting girls is like taking a club-footed blind retarded guy, throwing him in a straight jacket, and expecting him to be able to kickbox. As for me, in the regular bar scene, my only hope is to hit the right level of drunkenness (thus requiring a dive's cheap beer and hooch) in a bar with music set at conversational tones so that I can crack a few jokes for a girl at the right level of drunkenness (passed out.) At the club, the only determining factors in getting girls are how you are dressed (which I suppose I could fix) and how well you dance. I have a cool two or three dance moves that make for pretty good jokes – one I call the helicopter backpack, plus I do a mean start the lawnmower, but these do me no good in the club, as it's too fucking loud to tell anybody the joke anyway, and if I can't do that, I just look, well, like a clubfooted blind retarded guy in a straight jacket trying to kickbox. Which I don't think wins over the ladies.
The other thing that clubs seem to come down to is blind luck, and you know that's not going my way. For example, I was sitting on a stool outside the dance floor. Some hot girl game up to me and said hi. At least I think it was hi, it was of course too fucking loud to actually hear. I responded in kind. She then walked to the guy sitting at the next stool, said hi to him as well, and then started randomly and vigorously making out with him. I am convinced that my only crime here was sitting on the less lucky stool.
Anyway, if the club thing happens again, and god knows it will whether I want it to or not, I'll be better prepared. I went out today and finally bought some shoes, to replace the ragged, hole-ravaged shell tops that have served me well for the last two years or so. And, for what I lack in aesthetic style, I think I make up for it a bit in international variety. In fact, as I sit here typing this, I am wearing shoes I bought today in Seoul, jeans I bought in Chicago, a shirt I bought in Paris, an undershirt I bought in Lawrence, a jacket I bought in Munich, and a hat I bought in Venice. Which, admittedly, is a 12,000 mile road that still leads to a look somewhere between Salvation Army and Target.
One other note I want to make before I end this blog about dance clubs and shopping and begin writing the next installment about, you know, hair styles and celebrity gossip – er, I mean, eat a steak and have heterosexual sex with a girl – the design of urban department stores. Department stores in Seoul, much like any in Manhattan or Paris or Chicago between Belmont and Roosevelt, are vertical. Meaning, they are generally several different floors, no fewer than 5. Now, I understand that females dominate the retail space, as each department store generally has at least 5 or six floors devoted to chick shit and one floor, tops, with men's clothing. That's fine. I understand that girls are way more into shopping and what have you, stereotypically speaking, and I for one hate the mall and want to leave as soon as possible. So why is it, at every one of these stores that the one floor that sells men's wear is always on the fifth floor or higher? Why must I ride through several floors of escalators through all the chick shit to get to what I want, when all I want to do is get in and out as fast as fucking possible? I know there's the elevator too, but that's even worse, since by law, every department store elevator everywhere must stop at every floor every time. Would it be so hard to put the guy shit on the ground level, or even in the basement, so that I can get out of the store in under 10 minutes? I mean, with 9 floors of women's shit, the ladies are going to be cruising multiple floors to begin with, so why not just start them out on floor 2? And yes, I do actually have real problems, yet I choose to take time out of my day to complain about riding too many escalators.
Year in Review
originally posted on 1/1/07
I'm not really one to review calendar years based on random statistics and chart-able quantities (a total lie, really) but 2006 was pretty different from every other year I've had, so I'm going to bore you and talk about that. Don't worry, my Hong Kong blog is coming soon, filled with drunken anecdotes and Stong references, so that should be a crowd pleaser.
Anyway, travel-wise, my 2006 stats are pretty impressive, at least to me, so I'll throw out a few. Over the year, I spent time in 11 countries (USA, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Czech, Italy, Korea, Japan, and China), a personal record. I visited 11 World-Class, top tier cities (Chicago, Washington DC, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Brussels, Munich, Vienna, Prague, Venice, Seoul, and Hong Kong), another record, including 7 world capitols (record). In these places, I went to 40 museums/cultural sights, second only to 1999's ridiculous 53. Stateside, I took one proper long distance roadtrip, and went to 3 different baseball stadiums. I lived in 3 cities, visited 16 cities that I had not been to prior to this year, and took an estimate 20 trips of some type or another in all, accounting for 60 some travel days.
I flew on a record (at least dating back to when the old man had a pilot's license in the early 80s) 17 flights, to a record 13 airports, on a record 6 different airlines (Southwest, Scandinavian, KLM, United, Korean Air, and Cathay Pacific), probably largely because a record 11 of those flights were free. Strangely, the only place that I actually paid to fly to more than once last year was Lawrence/Kansas City.
Most amazingly of all, though I do have some credit card debt (but not a crippling amount) I managed to pay for all this travel by working a record low 120 days in all of 2006. Yep, 245 days off last year. Which is not to say I did no work on all of those days, a lot of the time I was looking for jobs. Then again, there were probably more days that involved waking up at 3, 4, 5 p.m., getting some tacos, watching some TV, going out to the bars, and coming home to play video games until 6, 7, 8 a.m. last year than at any point since college.
So, it seems logical to ask after all these statistics, was 2006 my best year ever? Easy - of course not. It would crack the top 5, I imagine, but it's not number one by a long shot, or even 2 or 3. Why not? One more statistic: Girlfriends in 2006 - 0 (sadly, this only ties a record.)
If you made it this far, thank's for reading. And again, I swear, I'll make it up to you next time. Have a neat 2007. I'll be spending the whole of mine in Seoul, doing a whole lot more work than last year.
I'm not really one to review calendar years based on random statistics and chart-able quantities (a total lie, really) but 2006 was pretty different from every other year I've had, so I'm going to bore you and talk about that. Don't worry, my Hong Kong blog is coming soon, filled with drunken anecdotes and Stong references, so that should be a crowd pleaser.
Anyway, travel-wise, my 2006 stats are pretty impressive, at least to me, so I'll throw out a few. Over the year, I spent time in 11 countries (USA, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Czech, Italy, Korea, Japan, and China), a personal record. I visited 11 World-Class, top tier cities (Chicago, Washington DC, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Brussels, Munich, Vienna, Prague, Venice, Seoul, and Hong Kong), another record, including 7 world capitols (record). In these places, I went to 40 museums/cultural sights, second only to 1999's ridiculous 53. Stateside, I took one proper long distance roadtrip, and went to 3 different baseball stadiums. I lived in 3 cities, visited 16 cities that I had not been to prior to this year, and took an estimate 20 trips of some type or another in all, accounting for 60 some travel days.
I flew on a record (at least dating back to when the old man had a pilot's license in the early 80s) 17 flights, to a record 13 airports, on a record 6 different airlines (Southwest, Scandinavian, KLM, United, Korean Air, and Cathay Pacific), probably largely because a record 11 of those flights were free. Strangely, the only place that I actually paid to fly to more than once last year was Lawrence/Kansas City.
Most amazingly of all, though I do have some credit card debt (but not a crippling amount) I managed to pay for all this travel by working a record low 120 days in all of 2006. Yep, 245 days off last year. Which is not to say I did no work on all of those days, a lot of the time I was looking for jobs. Then again, there were probably more days that involved waking up at 3, 4, 5 p.m., getting some tacos, watching some TV, going out to the bars, and coming home to play video games until 6, 7, 8 a.m. last year than at any point since college.
So, it seems logical to ask after all these statistics, was 2006 my best year ever? Easy - of course not. It would crack the top 5, I imagine, but it's not number one by a long shot, or even 2 or 3. Why not? One more statistic: Girlfriends in 2006 - 0 (sadly, this only ties a record.)
If you made it this far, thank's for reading. And again, I swear, I'll make it up to you next time. Have a neat 2007. I'll be spending the whole of mine in Seoul, doing a whole lot more work than last year.
Kongers 1 - Stong Kong
originally posted on 1/3/07
I took a last-minute Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong last week. Like anybody ever booking a flight ever under any circumstances, I chose Cathay, which is based in Hong Kong, because they had the cheapest ticket. Much to my shock, Cathay had pretty good food, movies that I actually wanted to see. (I chose "An Inconvenient Truth on the outbound, and "Little Miss Sunshine" on the return). Plus, free top-shelf booze. So, I liked Hong Kong right away, and I was still 30,000 feet somewhere over the Yellow (or in Korea, West) Sea.
I landed, with really no direction at all due to my total lack of preparation on this trip, short of "Tsim Sha Tsui – apts" and "Lan Kwai Fong/Wan Chai – beer" written in my notebook by my buddy Dave. So, I headed for Tsim Sha Tsui. Upon exiting the subway station there, I see the Peninsula Hotel, The Sheraton and Towers, the Grand Inter Continental. Fuck am I in the wrong place, I thought, maybe Dave had meant Lan Kwai Fong as the hotel area. I came to Hong Kong to spend money (ironically, my separation from my old job had left me abnormally rich since I got paid on my last day rather than January 10. Also, this was the second time in 2006 that I found myself in a foreign land with money paid to me for vacation time after I had ceased working for said company. Maybe 2006 is Number 2 overall.) but I didn't want to throw down Peninsula/top hotel in the world money.
So, I ambled around Tsim Sha Tsui, looking for a web café so that I could finally begin researching the trip that I was already on. More than anything, I just wanted to dump my bag and my coat (it was pretty much 72 degrees and sunny every day I was in Hong Kong, and I was still dressed for the frigid (though not Chicago frigid) Seoul winter. I saw a bookstore called "Traveler's Home," so I figures I couldn't go wrong there. I bought myself a second hand British-edition Lonely Planet (at least, I assume British, because the book would freely use the word "shit" without edits, but would * out the "a" and the "n" in he word "wanker") and strolled down to Delaney's Pub, which I had seen before. I ordered a Guinness and a Kilkeny, the former of which can pretty much only be found in Seoul in bottles or for $15 plus on draught, the latter of which does not exist in Seoul. While drinking, I read up on local accommodations, and discovered that I was in fact in the right place. Only one block from where I sat (and less than two from The Peninsula) loomed the Chunking Mansions and Mirador Mansions, two enormous, crumbling, ghetto-as fuck apartment buildings that make Cabrini-Green, architecturally at least, look like, well, The Peninsula. The Garden Hostel at the Mirador got high marks – clean, social, and rooms with private showers (and there were also dorm bunks for $8 a night American, but come on, I'm twenty fucking eight years old, I can't go that earthy anymore) so after my beer, I was off.
The room was about what I expected – tiny, a few roaches here and there, hot water lasting 30 seconds or so, but also, $25 a night or so in a killer location, so, perfect. The "Mansions" complexes themselves are a whole story in and of themselves, and one that I'm not going to go into now, it's really a whole other blog. I will say this – it's the type of place where you can get a top-notch fake Rolex, which I actually couldn't resist, since it's been a lifelong dream of mine to own a fake Rolex. I honestly don't think I'd get anywhere near the enjoyment in owning a real one than I do in finally obtaining a fake one.
I headed down to the Star Ferry on my first night after dinner to take the famous trip across Hong Kong Harbor to the central city. Cost for the ferry, by the way, in a city where "cheap" beers run five bones – a quarter. As I crossed the harbor and looked at central Hong Kong's stunning skyline, I immediately thought of my buddy Stong, who spent time here in, like, the mid 80's or something, when he was an undergrad. And, of course, his famous statement that the Kansas City skyline is the best in the world, surpassing Chicago and New York. He's been to fucking Hong Kong too! Which might, possibly, have a skyline as nice as the Chi's. I wasn't downtown long, way too tired from the flight, and headed back on the ferry after a beer, stopping by a 7-11 to see if they sold single cans so I could have a cheap one before an early bedtime. What I saw almost caused me to scream in delight. Apparently, the "Stong Kong" era had left a lasting impression on the city. At this 7-11, they sold single cans – of Pabst Blue Ribbon. For under a dollar. Proper pints of Guinness and Kilkeny and cans of PBR. I don't know which made me happier. And, I haven't even talked about the food yet, though I will next time. For now, I had to get to bed early, so I could get up early, because I decided the next day – I was going to Disneyland.
Stay tuned for thrilling, swashbuckling adventures through Lan Kwai Fong, The Peninsula, and of course Disneyland.
I took a last-minute Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong last week. Like anybody ever booking a flight ever under any circumstances, I chose Cathay, which is based in Hong Kong, because they had the cheapest ticket. Much to my shock, Cathay had pretty good food, movies that I actually wanted to see. (I chose "An Inconvenient Truth on the outbound, and "Little Miss Sunshine" on the return). Plus, free top-shelf booze. So, I liked Hong Kong right away, and I was still 30,000 feet somewhere over the Yellow (or in Korea, West) Sea.
I landed, with really no direction at all due to my total lack of preparation on this trip, short of "Tsim Sha Tsui – apts" and "Lan Kwai Fong/Wan Chai – beer" written in my notebook by my buddy Dave. So, I headed for Tsim Sha Tsui. Upon exiting the subway station there, I see the Peninsula Hotel, The Sheraton and Towers, the Grand Inter Continental. Fuck am I in the wrong place, I thought, maybe Dave had meant Lan Kwai Fong as the hotel area. I came to Hong Kong to spend money (ironically, my separation from my old job had left me abnormally rich since I got paid on my last day rather than January 10. Also, this was the second time in 2006 that I found myself in a foreign land with money paid to me for vacation time after I had ceased working for said company. Maybe 2006 is Number 2 overall.) but I didn't want to throw down Peninsula/top hotel in the world money.
So, I ambled around Tsim Sha Tsui, looking for a web café so that I could finally begin researching the trip that I was already on. More than anything, I just wanted to dump my bag and my coat (it was pretty much 72 degrees and sunny every day I was in Hong Kong, and I was still dressed for the frigid (though not Chicago frigid) Seoul winter. I saw a bookstore called "Traveler's Home," so I figures I couldn't go wrong there. I bought myself a second hand British-edition Lonely Planet (at least, I assume British, because the book would freely use the word "shit" without edits, but would * out the "a" and the "n" in he word "wanker") and strolled down to Delaney's Pub, which I had seen before. I ordered a Guinness and a Kilkeny, the former of which can pretty much only be found in Seoul in bottles or for $15 plus on draught, the latter of which does not exist in Seoul. While drinking, I read up on local accommodations, and discovered that I was in fact in the right place. Only one block from where I sat (and less than two from The Peninsula) loomed the Chunking Mansions and Mirador Mansions, two enormous, crumbling, ghetto-as fuck apartment buildings that make Cabrini-Green, architecturally at least, look like, well, The Peninsula. The Garden Hostel at the Mirador got high marks – clean, social, and rooms with private showers (and there were also dorm bunks for $8 a night American, but come on, I'm twenty fucking eight years old, I can't go that earthy anymore) so after my beer, I was off.
The room was about what I expected – tiny, a few roaches here and there, hot water lasting 30 seconds or so, but also, $25 a night or so in a killer location, so, perfect. The "Mansions" complexes themselves are a whole story in and of themselves, and one that I'm not going to go into now, it's really a whole other blog. I will say this – it's the type of place where you can get a top-notch fake Rolex, which I actually couldn't resist, since it's been a lifelong dream of mine to own a fake Rolex. I honestly don't think I'd get anywhere near the enjoyment in owning a real one than I do in finally obtaining a fake one.
I headed down to the Star Ferry on my first night after dinner to take the famous trip across Hong Kong Harbor to the central city. Cost for the ferry, by the way, in a city where "cheap" beers run five bones – a quarter. As I crossed the harbor and looked at central Hong Kong's stunning skyline, I immediately thought of my buddy Stong, who spent time here in, like, the mid 80's or something, when he was an undergrad. And, of course, his famous statement that the Kansas City skyline is the best in the world, surpassing Chicago and New York. He's been to fucking Hong Kong too! Which might, possibly, have a skyline as nice as the Chi's. I wasn't downtown long, way too tired from the flight, and headed back on the ferry after a beer, stopping by a 7-11 to see if they sold single cans so I could have a cheap one before an early bedtime. What I saw almost caused me to scream in delight. Apparently, the "Stong Kong" era had left a lasting impression on the city. At this 7-11, they sold single cans – of Pabst Blue Ribbon. For under a dollar. Proper pints of Guinness and Kilkeny and cans of PBR. I don't know which made me happier. And, I haven't even talked about the food yet, though I will next time. For now, I had to get to bed early, so I could get up early, because I decided the next day – I was going to Disneyland.
Stay tuned for thrilling, swashbuckling adventures through Lan Kwai Fong, The Peninsula, and of course Disneyland.
Kongers 2 - Disneyland
originally posted on 1/7/07
Hong Kong Disneyland was small, fake, manufactured, a bit lonely, a long subway ride from central Hong Kong, and worst of all, it didn't have most of the good Disney rides like Splash Mountain or Haunted Mansion. So was it worth the $40 or so I spent getting in? Fuck yes.
Because of the small size, it means I did everything, and I mean everything, in a few hours, even the tea cups, which I used to skip on 5 day trips to Disney parks back when. Plus, I did everything decent twice, and Space Mountain 4 times, and I never waited in line for anything really, except for the one new ride.
More to the point, and this is a bit cheesy, but this was my first Christmas without family. My nuclear family is only 4 people, but we live in four different regions and at no point since May of 1999 have more than 2 of us lived in the same city. And really, there are only two different subjects in the vast array of potential agreeable points – sports, politics, entertainment, and what have you, that all 4 of us agree upon. Those subjects are a love of Chiefs football (though maybe not today) and a love of Disney parks.
Like I said, I know it's cheesy, and that theoretically the notion of Disney parks is the same as the notion of Bud Lite and NASCAR and Wal Mart and should stand foursquare as part of everything that I am against. But you know what? I don't care. Many of you don't know this, but I spent some 18 days in a Disney park on 6 different trips to California and Florida between 1988 and 1994 with the entire family, and an additional 7 days or so with part of the fam on 3 other trips between 1996 and 1999. So, for those of you that flunked first grade (or second, Dylan) that's 9 Disney trips and 25 Disney days between the ages of 10 and 21. So, I don't care about the plastic in this case, or the corporate monotony, or the fact that, much like a Big Mac that tastes the same in Kansas as it does in Chicago as it does in Baltimore as it does in Florida as it does in Paris as it does in Seoul (and believe me, I know), Space Mountain is the exact same ride in Hong Kong as it is in Anaheim. And you know what? They both kick ass.
So, in an all-too-topical sense, I give the Disney Parks a full, free, and absolute pardon for any high crimes and misdemeanors they may have committed in cookie-cutter America. Again, this was my first Christmas away from home, and since watching the Chiefs anywhere here is impossible, going to Disneyland makes sense as a way to "spend time with family for the holidays." I know I don't write much about family or childhood in this or any other space, but I felt this was a fitting story, especially since I've yet to get the fam anything for Christmas and I know they'll read this and I need the points.
Hong Kong Disneyland was small, fake, manufactured, a bit lonely, a long subway ride from central Hong Kong, and worst of all, it didn't have most of the good Disney rides like Splash Mountain or Haunted Mansion. So was it worth the $40 or so I spent getting in? Fuck yes.
Because of the small size, it means I did everything, and I mean everything, in a few hours, even the tea cups, which I used to skip on 5 day trips to Disney parks back when. Plus, I did everything decent twice, and Space Mountain 4 times, and I never waited in line for anything really, except for the one new ride.
More to the point, and this is a bit cheesy, but this was my first Christmas without family. My nuclear family is only 4 people, but we live in four different regions and at no point since May of 1999 have more than 2 of us lived in the same city. And really, there are only two different subjects in the vast array of potential agreeable points – sports, politics, entertainment, and what have you, that all 4 of us agree upon. Those subjects are a love of Chiefs football (though maybe not today) and a love of Disney parks.
Like I said, I know it's cheesy, and that theoretically the notion of Disney parks is the same as the notion of Bud Lite and NASCAR and Wal Mart and should stand foursquare as part of everything that I am against. But you know what? I don't care. Many of you don't know this, but I spent some 18 days in a Disney park on 6 different trips to California and Florida between 1988 and 1994 with the entire family, and an additional 7 days or so with part of the fam on 3 other trips between 1996 and 1999. So, for those of you that flunked first grade (or second, Dylan) that's 9 Disney trips and 25 Disney days between the ages of 10 and 21. So, I don't care about the plastic in this case, or the corporate monotony, or the fact that, much like a Big Mac that tastes the same in Kansas as it does in Chicago as it does in Baltimore as it does in Florida as it does in Paris as it does in Seoul (and believe me, I know), Space Mountain is the exact same ride in Hong Kong as it is in Anaheim. And you know what? They both kick ass.
So, in an all-too-topical sense, I give the Disney Parks a full, free, and absolute pardon for any high crimes and misdemeanors they may have committed in cookie-cutter America. Again, this was my first Christmas away from home, and since watching the Chiefs anywhere here is impossible, going to Disneyland makes sense as a way to "spend time with family for the holidays." I know I don't write much about family or childhood in this or any other space, but I felt this was a fitting story, especially since I've yet to get the fam anything for Christmas and I know they'll read this and I need the points.
Hong Kong Foodie (and Drinky)
originally posted on 1/11/07
This should be the last of my 143 part series on the Hong Kong trip. After that, I might start blogging (a verb that my 2002 version of MS Word's spell check does not recognize, nor should it, really) on developments that are actually current, seeing as how I do have a new job and apartment and really a whole new life that started a week and a half ago that I have thus far been silent on.
As for this blog – do you want to know how good the food in Hong Kong is? There's a Hardee's there, a fucking Hardee's. I love Hardee's, it's the only fast food place that I actually drove 40 miles specifically to get to (Balto to York, PA), eat at, and then return home. I spent over 40 minutes to drive someplace that required 15 minutes to eat. I spent more on gas getting there than I did on food. And I would do it again. That's how much I love Hardee's. As for the Hardee's in Hong Kong – never made it there. The food in Hong Kong was that awesome.
Don't get me wrong, I did eat at an American-style place, twice in fact. That would be Dan Ryan's Chicago Grill. Like I could resist that. Hell, I'm not on a two-week holiday from back home, I'm in Korea for at least another year, and there's not much in the way of Chicago Dogs in Seoul. Dan Ryan's served far from the perfect dog, but it is probably a safe bet that it was the best one east of Gary.
Beyond that, I also had Hong-Kong style dim sum twice, which I'd never had before and was fucking killer. Plus, I noshed at a Brazilian buffet/meat on a sword joint, and Indian joint, and a Malaysian joint. The Malaysian may have been the best of all, but was so hot I couldn't finish it. Remember, I'm the kid that brought a bottle of Dave's Insanity Sauce with me to Korea, so that's saying something. Really, the only food places I avoided in Hong Kong were the Korean ones, which there were tons of, because I figured they aren't too hard to find around Seoul.
As for the drinky – there was surprisingly little. By little, of course, I still mean no less than 5 beers a day, for fuck's sake, I was still on vacation in a warm location in a foreign country sporting a high budget, so it's not like I was hanging out at church. Basically, when I say I didn't drink much, it means that I really only had one full-on, nothing-makes-sense, rock out, money-pissing night out - Friday night, my third in Hong Kong. I had budgeted around $200 a day for the trip, and on Friday, including lodging, I had only managed to spend about $40, so I had obtained plenty of drinking capital, and I intended to spend it. (Sorry, that's two lame presidential quotes in two blogs. To complete the malaise, I would just like to say that I did not have sex with that woman, so tear down this wall to the 1,000 points of light. Also, I am almost positive that there must be some sort of grammar rule against ending a paragraph with a parenthetical phrase).
So, I went to Lan Kwai Fong, at happy hour time. Beers, as I've said, are expensive as hell in Hong Kong, but most places feature a "happy hour," which is actually several hours long, usually a 3 or 4 hour block falling somewhere in the 3 p.m. to 10 p.m. window, depending on the bar. Everything is pretty much half price at happy hour, which means you can get a beer for as low as $4. I started out in some German bar and ordered a Konig. Apparently, this place takes their pouring much more seriously than any bar in Germany, because the barmaid told me it would take 7 minutes to pour one right. I agreed to this, and ordered a Heineken bottle in the interim. I noticed immediately after knocking back these two beers that I felt a bit buzzed – I was going to get plowed, and quickly, it seemed. I moved on to another bar, ended up hitting a few, including one with a shitty house band playing shitty top 40 songs that I of course got way to into while they were playing. At some point I got Malaysian food, then hit another bar, before getting on the ferry at around midnight to hit the Kowloon bars. I will now go to the "live" report that I wrote on the ferry:
Try not rocking out on the pod listening to Thunderstruck (ACDC). Oh, Thunderstruck doesn't rock? Listen to it, then imagine a song you'd rather hear. None? What I thought. (Yes, much like the Faith No More incident in Gangnam a couple months ago, I was forced to rock out in the streets when "Thunderstruck" came on. Like you wouldn't? Drunk me was right there, the song kicks ass.)
Later on that evening, I went to the Peninsula Hotel's bar, on the 28th floor of one of the finest hotels in the world. Probably one of the world's best views as well, overlooking the harbor and the Hong Kong skyline across it. I had a martini, not about to order a beer in such a high class joint. My memory at this point in the evening is a bit spotty, but judging from what I wrote at the bar, it seems I decided to pretend that I was a travel writer from the Wall Street Journal, possibly to get free drinks, more likely to get faster service. Seems like a fine plan, and I wrote of it, apparently after my initial ruse, "I wonder if this would work if I were a Wall Street Journal travel writer. Although I doubt they have a travel section. Where would they write about, Houston? I don't think the waiter believes my guise."
I remembered reading in the Lonely Planet that the pisser at the Peninsula Bar is worth the trip to the bar itself. Fortunately, at this point in the evening, motivation for seeking out a pisser was not at a premium. I think only by fulfilling every man's dream and pissing off the Hoover Dam could I top this. 28th floor, floor to ceiling window, darkened room to match the dark outside, a waist-high or so marble partition between you and the window, I guess to make sure that no birds or helicopters are checking out your johnson. I gotta say, I've pissed everywhere from the Paris Ritz to a Tijuana alley, and the Peninsula is hands down number one when it comes to number one.
So, that should wrap up my Hong Kong blog, finally. In conclusion, China is a land of contrasts.
This should be the last of my 143 part series on the Hong Kong trip. After that, I might start blogging (a verb that my 2002 version of MS Word's spell check does not recognize, nor should it, really) on developments that are actually current, seeing as how I do have a new job and apartment and really a whole new life that started a week and a half ago that I have thus far been silent on.
As for this blog – do you want to know how good the food in Hong Kong is? There's a Hardee's there, a fucking Hardee's. I love Hardee's, it's the only fast food place that I actually drove 40 miles specifically to get to (Balto to York, PA), eat at, and then return home. I spent over 40 minutes to drive someplace that required 15 minutes to eat. I spent more on gas getting there than I did on food. And I would do it again. That's how much I love Hardee's. As for the Hardee's in Hong Kong – never made it there. The food in Hong Kong was that awesome.
Don't get me wrong, I did eat at an American-style place, twice in fact. That would be Dan Ryan's Chicago Grill. Like I could resist that. Hell, I'm not on a two-week holiday from back home, I'm in Korea for at least another year, and there's not much in the way of Chicago Dogs in Seoul. Dan Ryan's served far from the perfect dog, but it is probably a safe bet that it was the best one east of Gary.
Beyond that, I also had Hong-Kong style dim sum twice, which I'd never had before and was fucking killer. Plus, I noshed at a Brazilian buffet/meat on a sword joint, and Indian joint, and a Malaysian joint. The Malaysian may have been the best of all, but was so hot I couldn't finish it. Remember, I'm the kid that brought a bottle of Dave's Insanity Sauce with me to Korea, so that's saying something. Really, the only food places I avoided in Hong Kong were the Korean ones, which there were tons of, because I figured they aren't too hard to find around Seoul.
As for the drinky – there was surprisingly little. By little, of course, I still mean no less than 5 beers a day, for fuck's sake, I was still on vacation in a warm location in a foreign country sporting a high budget, so it's not like I was hanging out at church. Basically, when I say I didn't drink much, it means that I really only had one full-on, nothing-makes-sense, rock out, money-pissing night out - Friday night, my third in Hong Kong. I had budgeted around $200 a day for the trip, and on Friday, including lodging, I had only managed to spend about $40, so I had obtained plenty of drinking capital, and I intended to spend it. (Sorry, that's two lame presidential quotes in two blogs. To complete the malaise, I would just like to say that I did not have sex with that woman, so tear down this wall to the 1,000 points of light. Also, I am almost positive that there must be some sort of grammar rule against ending a paragraph with a parenthetical phrase).
So, I went to Lan Kwai Fong, at happy hour time. Beers, as I've said, are expensive as hell in Hong Kong, but most places feature a "happy hour," which is actually several hours long, usually a 3 or 4 hour block falling somewhere in the 3 p.m. to 10 p.m. window, depending on the bar. Everything is pretty much half price at happy hour, which means you can get a beer for as low as $4. I started out in some German bar and ordered a Konig. Apparently, this place takes their pouring much more seriously than any bar in Germany, because the barmaid told me it would take 7 minutes to pour one right. I agreed to this, and ordered a Heineken bottle in the interim. I noticed immediately after knocking back these two beers that I felt a bit buzzed – I was going to get plowed, and quickly, it seemed. I moved on to another bar, ended up hitting a few, including one with a shitty house band playing shitty top 40 songs that I of course got way to into while they were playing. At some point I got Malaysian food, then hit another bar, before getting on the ferry at around midnight to hit the Kowloon bars. I will now go to the "live" report that I wrote on the ferry:
Try not rocking out on the pod listening to Thunderstruck (ACDC). Oh, Thunderstruck doesn't rock? Listen to it, then imagine a song you'd rather hear. None? What I thought. (Yes, much like the Faith No More incident in Gangnam a couple months ago, I was forced to rock out in the streets when "Thunderstruck" came on. Like you wouldn't? Drunk me was right there, the song kicks ass.)
Later on that evening, I went to the Peninsula Hotel's bar, on the 28th floor of one of the finest hotels in the world. Probably one of the world's best views as well, overlooking the harbor and the Hong Kong skyline across it. I had a martini, not about to order a beer in such a high class joint. My memory at this point in the evening is a bit spotty, but judging from what I wrote at the bar, it seems I decided to pretend that I was a travel writer from the Wall Street Journal, possibly to get free drinks, more likely to get faster service. Seems like a fine plan, and I wrote of it, apparently after my initial ruse, "I wonder if this would work if I were a Wall Street Journal travel writer. Although I doubt they have a travel section. Where would they write about, Houston? I don't think the waiter believes my guise."
I remembered reading in the Lonely Planet that the pisser at the Peninsula Bar is worth the trip to the bar itself. Fortunately, at this point in the evening, motivation for seeking out a pisser was not at a premium. I think only by fulfilling every man's dream and pissing off the Hoover Dam could I top this. 28th floor, floor to ceiling window, darkened room to match the dark outside, a waist-high or so marble partition between you and the window, I guess to make sure that no birds or helicopters are checking out your johnson. I gotta say, I've pissed everywhere from the Paris Ritz to a Tijuana alley, and the Peninsula is hands down number one when it comes to number one.
So, that should wrap up my Hong Kong blog, finally. In conclusion, China is a land of contrasts.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Cultural Teachings from America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Korea
originally posted on 1/21/07
Well, I am happy to say that I'm doing a killer job in bringing grand American cultural institutions to the previously Barbary lives of my Korean hosts. And by American culture, I of course mean the highest form thereof, specifically that of the Louise's/Michigan Street variety. Early on, as noted here, I was able to bring pirate humor into the lives of Korean youth, as a lesson at my old school involved proper pronunciation of the "ar" sound, as in Mars or Favre, which of course I would only allow the students to say in the proper pirate manner.
Since I've come to the new school, things have gotten even better in the knowledge-spreading arena. Two weeks ago, I taught a unit on dinosaurs, which of course meant telling the dinosaur joke to every single class. This week, a textbook upped the ante with a unit on the farm, thus I was able to teach the kids how to properly moo. I even taught some of the smarter kids that they should roll down their windows and moo at the cows they see when their parents are driving in rural areas. I also inadvertently taught one class how to play the beerhunter, though with soda, when trying to explain the difference between "fun" and "funny." Admittedly, it's a bad example, as the beerhunter can be both.
While out at the bar, I was speaking to a Korean businessman. When I left, I gave him "the claw," which most readers of this should be aware of, but if you aren't, ask Daniel. "Is this an American custom?" he asked me. "Yes." I said. He seemed pleased to learn it.
Now, if only I could get the kids on board with Royals baseball and KU hoops, my work will be complete. Unfortunately, both prospects are doubtful unless said teams sign a Korean player.
Well, I am happy to say that I'm doing a killer job in bringing grand American cultural institutions to the previously Barbary lives of my Korean hosts. And by American culture, I of course mean the highest form thereof, specifically that of the Louise's/Michigan Street variety. Early on, as noted here, I was able to bring pirate humor into the lives of Korean youth, as a lesson at my old school involved proper pronunciation of the "ar" sound, as in Mars or Favre, which of course I would only allow the students to say in the proper pirate manner.
Since I've come to the new school, things have gotten even better in the knowledge-spreading arena. Two weeks ago, I taught a unit on dinosaurs, which of course meant telling the dinosaur joke to every single class. This week, a textbook upped the ante with a unit on the farm, thus I was able to teach the kids how to properly moo. I even taught some of the smarter kids that they should roll down their windows and moo at the cows they see when their parents are driving in rural areas. I also inadvertently taught one class how to play the beerhunter, though with soda, when trying to explain the difference between "fun" and "funny." Admittedly, it's a bad example, as the beerhunter can be both.
While out at the bar, I was speaking to a Korean businessman. When I left, I gave him "the claw," which most readers of this should be aware of, but if you aren't, ask Daniel. "Is this an American custom?" he asked me. "Yes." I said. He seemed pleased to learn it.
Now, if only I could get the kids on board with Royals baseball and KU hoops, my work will be complete. Unfortunately, both prospects are doubtful unless said teams sign a Korean player.
Culltural learnings of korea for make benefit glorious blog of dr. superbowl (I)
originally posted on 1/24/07
Yeah, I'm a teacher, but I've definitely learned a lot more than I've taught so far. I've touched on some funny cultural things before, but it's been awhile, and now I've learned a lot more, even funnier cultural things.
Like, for example, that the kids I teach have a pretty sick but pretty hilarious sense of humor. When somebody is absent, another kid will often say something like "Kevin (in case I didn't mention, the kids mostly all have English nicknames, and around 72% or so of the boys call themselves Kevin) no here, he die." Or, "John no here, he do the suicide." Each one always gets a big laugh from the rest of the class. Just to spice up their tales of their classmate's untimely demise, I've taught many of them the words "stab" and "chainsaw," the latter as both a noun and a verb, mainly because they wanted to know. A real vocabulary word in one of the levels I teach was "bar of soap," and when pointing to a picture of soap, I asked the kids what it was called, and one kid said, "that's a delicious bar of soap."
I teach one higher level class, which can of course be even funnier. These are kids that, after reading a long story about a worker and a manager developing friction at the workplace, all of the kids took the side of management and cheered for the employee to be fired. Also, in the same class, in a brief dialogue between 2 female characters in the text, both played by boys as the girl was absent, one boy was gloating that he got to read the part of the more attractive woman, while the other student was stuck reading the part of the uglier one.
Beyond school-land, I have made plenty of other cultural observations. I had prepared a long rant on the futility of chopsticks on my original draft of this (yes, sadly, this horseshit composition, crudely worded though it may be, is not a first draft, I've taken to writing most of these blogs in little notebooks in bars) but have decided against it earlier today. I'm finally getting a bit better with them. I can't catch a fly or anything, but at least my hand doesn't cramp so much anymore. But, as I was eating kimchi with my dinner, it occurred to me that a fork makes no sense for kimchi, it just wouldn't carry right. Being that the Koreans eat kimchi with every single meal (which in itself still doesn't make sense to me. I mean, I genuinely like kimchi now, and I miss it if I don't eat it for a couple days. But every meal? I still like, say, fries more than kimchi, but I sure as hell wouldn't want fries with every meal) the chopstick thing makes more sense now. I still don't see the sense in eating noodles with chopsticks when a fork works a million times better there, but maybe I'll learn to do that too.
On the fork, they do exist here, and Koreans use them for all kinds of things that westerners never do. Like pizza, for example. And I don't mean Chicago dish pizza, I mean Pizza Hut and lower, as most pizza places here are shitty, Pizza Shuttle – level type cheap pizza places. Not that they aren't awesome – 5 bucks for a pizza and a thing of pickles that are almost like normal pickles but are mildly spicy and therefore brilliant. Regardless, the point is, to eat Pizza Shuttle – quality pizza with a fork is almost an insult to the fork, yet this is what's done here. Fries too, with the forks. Not at Mc Donard but at, say, TGI Friday's. I almost expect to see a Seinfeldian knife-and-fork Snicker bar scenario. All of this comes from the notion of not touching your food and cleanliness, I presume.
There's an almost obsessive focus on cleanliness here. People brush their teeth like 7 times a day, it seems. You never touch your food. Though I don't mind it for the sake of comfort, the whole shoes-off indoors thing is totally based in cleanliness. Yet, half the public restrooms here lack soap, those that do have it have a delicious bar rather than liquid, and the bathrooms almost never have warm water or a means to dry your hands. Also, the cleanliness obsession ends outside, as everybody throws their "walking around" trash on the ground because there's no trash cans anywhere. I mean, who wants to walk around with an empty pack of smokes in their pocket and an empty water bottle in their hand? I think a major reason that showpiece American city regions like Chicago's north side and Manhattan are so clean is the fact that there's a trash can every 5 feet.
A lot of the kids are ridiculously smart, when you think about it. Some say that they knew some English words – you know, hello, goodbye, blue, red -- when they were three. I don't think I knew there was a place called Korea when I was 3, and I'm a map geek that knew which freeway went from Chicago to Michigan at that time. Plus, I still don't know "red" or "blue" in Korean, and I'm hit-and-miss on "goodbye."
Yeah, I'm a teacher, but I've definitely learned a lot more than I've taught so far. I've touched on some funny cultural things before, but it's been awhile, and now I've learned a lot more, even funnier cultural things.
Like, for example, that the kids I teach have a pretty sick but pretty hilarious sense of humor. When somebody is absent, another kid will often say something like "Kevin (in case I didn't mention, the kids mostly all have English nicknames, and around 72% or so of the boys call themselves Kevin) no here, he die." Or, "John no here, he do the suicide." Each one always gets a big laugh from the rest of the class. Just to spice up their tales of their classmate's untimely demise, I've taught many of them the words "stab" and "chainsaw," the latter as both a noun and a verb, mainly because they wanted to know. A real vocabulary word in one of the levels I teach was "bar of soap," and when pointing to a picture of soap, I asked the kids what it was called, and one kid said, "that's a delicious bar of soap."
I teach one higher level class, which can of course be even funnier. These are kids that, after reading a long story about a worker and a manager developing friction at the workplace, all of the kids took the side of management and cheered for the employee to be fired. Also, in the same class, in a brief dialogue between 2 female characters in the text, both played by boys as the girl was absent, one boy was gloating that he got to read the part of the more attractive woman, while the other student was stuck reading the part of the uglier one.
Beyond school-land, I have made plenty of other cultural observations. I had prepared a long rant on the futility of chopsticks on my original draft of this (yes, sadly, this horseshit composition, crudely worded though it may be, is not a first draft, I've taken to writing most of these blogs in little notebooks in bars) but have decided against it earlier today. I'm finally getting a bit better with them. I can't catch a fly or anything, but at least my hand doesn't cramp so much anymore. But, as I was eating kimchi with my dinner, it occurred to me that a fork makes no sense for kimchi, it just wouldn't carry right. Being that the Koreans eat kimchi with every single meal (which in itself still doesn't make sense to me. I mean, I genuinely like kimchi now, and I miss it if I don't eat it for a couple days. But every meal? I still like, say, fries more than kimchi, but I sure as hell wouldn't want fries with every meal) the chopstick thing makes more sense now. I still don't see the sense in eating noodles with chopsticks when a fork works a million times better there, but maybe I'll learn to do that too.
On the fork, they do exist here, and Koreans use them for all kinds of things that westerners never do. Like pizza, for example. And I don't mean Chicago dish pizza, I mean Pizza Hut and lower, as most pizza places here are shitty, Pizza Shuttle – level type cheap pizza places. Not that they aren't awesome – 5 bucks for a pizza and a thing of pickles that are almost like normal pickles but are mildly spicy and therefore brilliant. Regardless, the point is, to eat Pizza Shuttle – quality pizza with a fork is almost an insult to the fork, yet this is what's done here. Fries too, with the forks. Not at Mc Donard but at, say, TGI Friday's. I almost expect to see a Seinfeldian knife-and-fork Snicker bar scenario. All of this comes from the notion of not touching your food and cleanliness, I presume.
There's an almost obsessive focus on cleanliness here. People brush their teeth like 7 times a day, it seems. You never touch your food. Though I don't mind it for the sake of comfort, the whole shoes-off indoors thing is totally based in cleanliness. Yet, half the public restrooms here lack soap, those that do have it have a delicious bar rather than liquid, and the bathrooms almost never have warm water or a means to dry your hands. Also, the cleanliness obsession ends outside, as everybody throws their "walking around" trash on the ground because there's no trash cans anywhere. I mean, who wants to walk around with an empty pack of smokes in their pocket and an empty water bottle in their hand? I think a major reason that showpiece American city regions like Chicago's north side and Manhattan are so clean is the fact that there's a trash can every 5 feet.
A lot of the kids are ridiculously smart, when you think about it. Some say that they knew some English words – you know, hello, goodbye, blue, red -- when they were three. I don't think I knew there was a place called Korea when I was 3, and I'm a map geek that knew which freeway went from Chicago to Michigan at that time. Plus, I still don't know "red" or "blue" in Korean, and I'm hit-and-miss on "goodbye."
Cultural Learnings Blah Blah Blah Part 2
originally posted on 1/30/07
On goodbye, so far as I can tell, Koreans don't say it when talking on their cell phones. Granted, my Korean vocabulary is lower than your average local dog, but of the many times I've witnessed Koreans on their cells, it seems from their diction that they are in mid-thought or mid-sentence when they suddenly hang up. Nothing in their body language or tonality indicated that the conversation is wrapping up, it just ends.
There are no street names here. That one I still can't get my head around. Maybe it's the map nerd in me, but it makes no sense. It's impossible to find anything by address. There is no way to figure out how to get anywhere you haven't been before without at least 2 phone calls, unless it's some sort of major landmark. I'm convinced this system was invented by chicks, because only chick directions work to get anywhere. "Go down the big street, turn left at that one kimbap place with the orange sign, then right at the 7-11. Go to the green place on the left, then call us again." Fucking hell.
I noticed another funny Korean thing while having a couple beers at a nearby bar called the #10 Bar. It's a "punk" – "alt" type of bar, so all of the staff wear "alt" "punk" clothes. But, they are all dressed in the exact same "alt" "punk" gear, so it's institutionalized, mandated free-thinking uniformity, so really, it is so very Korean.
Other random funny things – it is uncouth to blow your nose in public here, even when that public is Korean co-workers that you see every day . Yet, it is completely socially acceptable to hock up the biggest of loogies and spit when walking on the street filled with hundreds of strangers. Half a gram of pot results in jail time, long jail time, yet one can walk down the street at 2 p.m. on a Wednesday openly drinking absinthe and nobody cares. There are no strip clubs and no porn racier than your average Maxim, but brothels on every block.
I've learned to love Korean commercials. On Korean TV, commercials during shows are rare, and then there's a huge block of them. For example, on Fox Korea, at 9 p.m. they generally show some awesome trash like wildest police chase videos or something awesome like that, but since there's almost no commercials during the show, the show ends at like 9:47. Then, since the Simpsons is on at 10, just like god intended, I generally keep Fox on during the 13 minute downtime, and there's like 4 or 5 commercials, run over and over again. Probably my favorite is for a check cashing place called "Rush Cash," but because Koreans always finish their words with a vowel sound, the jingle is an upbeat "rush-y and cash-y!" That, and virtually every Korean commercial features the product converting from bad to good to the tune of a brrrriiiing bell tone, a-la every 80's infomercial.
A girl sitting next to me at the time I wrote the rough draft of this offered and then insisted that I eat some of the food she had ordered. That's another thing that is completely Korean. She wasn't offering leftovers, it was fresh, new food, and not an appetizer, but some sort of beef dish. I've been to a million bars in a million towns in 20 different countries, and this would simply not happen anywhere else. I've also had bar bills picked up by Korean people that I had known for 5 minutes. I don't know where I'm taking this blog, other than into the ground, but I don't think I've ever been anywhere else where people are so shockingly and apparently naturally nice
On goodbye, so far as I can tell, Koreans don't say it when talking on their cell phones. Granted, my Korean vocabulary is lower than your average local dog, but of the many times I've witnessed Koreans on their cells, it seems from their diction that they are in mid-thought or mid-sentence when they suddenly hang up. Nothing in their body language or tonality indicated that the conversation is wrapping up, it just ends.
There are no street names here. That one I still can't get my head around. Maybe it's the map nerd in me, but it makes no sense. It's impossible to find anything by address. There is no way to figure out how to get anywhere you haven't been before without at least 2 phone calls, unless it's some sort of major landmark. I'm convinced this system was invented by chicks, because only chick directions work to get anywhere. "Go down the big street, turn left at that one kimbap place with the orange sign, then right at the 7-11. Go to the green place on the left, then call us again." Fucking hell.
I noticed another funny Korean thing while having a couple beers at a nearby bar called the #10 Bar. It's a "punk" – "alt" type of bar, so all of the staff wear "alt" "punk" clothes. But, they are all dressed in the exact same "alt" "punk" gear, so it's institutionalized, mandated free-thinking uniformity, so really, it is so very Korean.
Other random funny things – it is uncouth to blow your nose in public here, even when that public is Korean co-workers that you see every day . Yet, it is completely socially acceptable to hock up the biggest of loogies and spit when walking on the street filled with hundreds of strangers. Half a gram of pot results in jail time, long jail time, yet one can walk down the street at 2 p.m. on a Wednesday openly drinking absinthe and nobody cares. There are no strip clubs and no porn racier than your average Maxim, but brothels on every block.
I've learned to love Korean commercials. On Korean TV, commercials during shows are rare, and then there's a huge block of them. For example, on Fox Korea, at 9 p.m. they generally show some awesome trash like wildest police chase videos or something awesome like that, but since there's almost no commercials during the show, the show ends at like 9:47. Then, since the Simpsons is on at 10, just like god intended, I generally keep Fox on during the 13 minute downtime, and there's like 4 or 5 commercials, run over and over again. Probably my favorite is for a check cashing place called "Rush Cash," but because Koreans always finish their words with a vowel sound, the jingle is an upbeat "rush-y and cash-y!" That, and virtually every Korean commercial features the product converting from bad to good to the tune of a brrrriiiing bell tone, a-la every 80's infomercial.
A girl sitting next to me at the time I wrote the rough draft of this offered and then insisted that I eat some of the food she had ordered. That's another thing that is completely Korean. She wasn't offering leftovers, it was fresh, new food, and not an appetizer, but some sort of beef dish. I've been to a million bars in a million towns in 20 different countries, and this would simply not happen anywhere else. I've also had bar bills picked up by Korean people that I had known for 5 minutes. I don't know where I'm taking this blog, other than into the ground, but I don't think I've ever been anywhere else where people are so shockingly and apparently naturally nice
In Da (Mountain) Club, Yo
originally posted on 2/23/07
After nearly 5 months in Seoul and just under two months a stone's throw from Korea's most popular national park, I finally made the trip to the mountains. By subway, a cool 3 stops, as my current location dictates. It literally takes longer to walk from my house to the subway than the subway trip to the mountains takes. I know, I know, lame I haven't been yet, but I'm pretty damn lazy. You knew that.
So, equipped with a sturdy backpack jammed with necessary vittals like gorp and lakes of water, a solid pair of hiking boots, and a detailed, English-language map of the mountain, I set off for my hike at 9 a.m. And by this, of course, I mean a haggard backpack filled with books and a pocket Yahtzee game, a ½ liter bottle of water, no food, no map, and setting off at 3 p.m after a long night of drinking. Yeah, that sounds more like it. Also, crappy shoes, because I didn't want to get my adidas too dirty. Tomato potato.
I walked down, or rather up, a rather easy trail complete with stairs, which of course was near heart attack inducing level for me. I was out of water before I'd even finished the first cigarette of the hike. After awhile, as it got dark, I realized I needed to find a spot on the trail where I could declare the hike a victory and head home. I finally reached a large rocky bluff with a great view of the city and decided that this was the point of return.
A group of Korean hikers; each wearing boots, hiking pants, fleece jackets, Goretex, and sporting quality backpacks and walking sticks (basically, like everybody else on the mountain but me) were in front of me, working their way down a trail. The trail was a different one than the simple one I had taken to that point, but who wants to take the same way twice? No adventure in that. I decided this was the trail for me. I noticed a sign written in Korean and English (I could only read the English part of course, but I could sound out the words on the Korean part - big step) saying "Dangerous Trail." Dangerous? Perfect. I'd clearly been dominating the easy, stairs-built-in (I think it may have had a wheelchair ramp too) trail I took to this point, I needed a new challenge.
Most of the Koreans were now down the dangerous "trail," and two insisted they stay on top of the ridge until I descended the "trail." See, the "trail," (that's annoying, I know) was basically a 30 to 50 foot sheer, near vertical rock face, with a few random cracks that one could use for hand holds and foot holds. Which means it required me to, at certain points, hang off the side of a mountain like Stallone in one of his lesser, non-cold war-ending rolls. Maybe not that dramatic, but it seemed that way from my angle. And of course, due to my brilliant choice in footwear, I had all the traction of an 80 year-old Stalingrad whore.
I didn't realize what a bad idea descending this trail was until I was already far enough down that climbing back up was unthinkable. Good thing the Korean climbers were there. They would yell at me in Korean to move in a certain direction, but that only lead me to twist around into some sort of Mission Impossible 2 like formation (stupid reference, I know, but it's on TV here all the time). One guy who had already reached the bottom came back up to where I was, and would grab my foot and move it to the next foothold, and would also generally run around this precipitous rock face as if it were flat. Plus, keep in mind, this dude was at least 50 and maybe 110 pounds.
Finally, I made it down to the bottom of the ridge, and the two guys who had stayed at the top to lend me a hand and yell Korean instructions scaled down after me, in about 3 seconds. Then, all of them pointed at my shoes, and made fun of them in Korean, and rightfully so really. I attempted to explain why I was a dumbass, but this would prove difficult even if I was fluent in the language.
The rest of the trail back to the base was easy. I walked back with them, and they seemed determined to ensure that I was never in the front of the group or in the back, until we reached the base and the tourist village at the entrance to the national park.
There was a large map painted on a large signboard at the entrance to the park, which I attempted to go look at to determine how far I had actually hiked, thinking how I would love nothing more than to buy these people a beer before heading home to order a pizza. One of the 10 climbers, the only one who spoke English beyond "hello," "goodbye," and "my name is," (by the way, I still don't know "my name is" in Korean, which I'm sure really impresses the girls at the bar) invited me to come with them to dinner. Pizza be damned.
We went to a restaurant in the tourist village, and had a nice two hour dinner. We ate tons of food, the centerpiece a seafood stew with baby octopus tentacles (yes, I said tentacles, jackass) and tiny shrimp complete with shells and heads – and it was tasty as hell. Needless to say in such circumstances, countless toasts were given and countless shots of soju were downed. Turns out this group is a mountain climbing club, and they meet to climb a different mountain every week.
When it came time to pay the bill, my hosts refused to allow me to contribute a single won to the bill, despite my many offers to do so. Then, as we split up near the train station, Mr. Ahn, the head of the club, bought a big bag of oranges from a street vendor and insisted I take two with me.
So, to recap, these strangers that I met by random chance saved my ass on the rock face, got me pretty well hammered, bought me dinner, and sent me on my way full, drunk, and with a couple of oranges for the road. How often do you think that happens in, say, Aspen?
After nearly 5 months in Seoul and just under two months a stone's throw from Korea's most popular national park, I finally made the trip to the mountains. By subway, a cool 3 stops, as my current location dictates. It literally takes longer to walk from my house to the subway than the subway trip to the mountains takes. I know, I know, lame I haven't been yet, but I'm pretty damn lazy. You knew that.
So, equipped with a sturdy backpack jammed with necessary vittals like gorp and lakes of water, a solid pair of hiking boots, and a detailed, English-language map of the mountain, I set off for my hike at 9 a.m. And by this, of course, I mean a haggard backpack filled with books and a pocket Yahtzee game, a ½ liter bottle of water, no food, no map, and setting off at 3 p.m after a long night of drinking. Yeah, that sounds more like it. Also, crappy shoes, because I didn't want to get my adidas too dirty. Tomato potato.
I walked down, or rather up, a rather easy trail complete with stairs, which of course was near heart attack inducing level for me. I was out of water before I'd even finished the first cigarette of the hike. After awhile, as it got dark, I realized I needed to find a spot on the trail where I could declare the hike a victory and head home. I finally reached a large rocky bluff with a great view of the city and decided that this was the point of return.
A group of Korean hikers; each wearing boots, hiking pants, fleece jackets, Goretex, and sporting quality backpacks and walking sticks (basically, like everybody else on the mountain but me) were in front of me, working their way down a trail. The trail was a different one than the simple one I had taken to that point, but who wants to take the same way twice? No adventure in that. I decided this was the trail for me. I noticed a sign written in Korean and English (I could only read the English part of course, but I could sound out the words on the Korean part - big step) saying "Dangerous Trail." Dangerous? Perfect. I'd clearly been dominating the easy, stairs-built-in (I think it may have had a wheelchair ramp too) trail I took to this point, I needed a new challenge.
Most of the Koreans were now down the dangerous "trail," and two insisted they stay on top of the ridge until I descended the "trail." See, the "trail," (that's annoying, I know) was basically a 30 to 50 foot sheer, near vertical rock face, with a few random cracks that one could use for hand holds and foot holds. Which means it required me to, at certain points, hang off the side of a mountain like Stallone in one of his lesser, non-cold war-ending rolls. Maybe not that dramatic, but it seemed that way from my angle. And of course, due to my brilliant choice in footwear, I had all the traction of an 80 year-old Stalingrad whore.
I didn't realize what a bad idea descending this trail was until I was already far enough down that climbing back up was unthinkable. Good thing the Korean climbers were there. They would yell at me in Korean to move in a certain direction, but that only lead me to twist around into some sort of Mission Impossible 2 like formation (stupid reference, I know, but it's on TV here all the time). One guy who had already reached the bottom came back up to where I was, and would grab my foot and move it to the next foothold, and would also generally run around this precipitous rock face as if it were flat. Plus, keep in mind, this dude was at least 50 and maybe 110 pounds.
Finally, I made it down to the bottom of the ridge, and the two guys who had stayed at the top to lend me a hand and yell Korean instructions scaled down after me, in about 3 seconds. Then, all of them pointed at my shoes, and made fun of them in Korean, and rightfully so really. I attempted to explain why I was a dumbass, but this would prove difficult even if I was fluent in the language.
The rest of the trail back to the base was easy. I walked back with them, and they seemed determined to ensure that I was never in the front of the group or in the back, until we reached the base and the tourist village at the entrance to the national park.
There was a large map painted on a large signboard at the entrance to the park, which I attempted to go look at to determine how far I had actually hiked, thinking how I would love nothing more than to buy these people a beer before heading home to order a pizza. One of the 10 climbers, the only one who spoke English beyond "hello," "goodbye," and "my name is," (by the way, I still don't know "my name is" in Korean, which I'm sure really impresses the girls at the bar) invited me to come with them to dinner. Pizza be damned.
We went to a restaurant in the tourist village, and had a nice two hour dinner. We ate tons of food, the centerpiece a seafood stew with baby octopus tentacles (yes, I said tentacles, jackass) and tiny shrimp complete with shells and heads – and it was tasty as hell. Needless to say in such circumstances, countless toasts were given and countless shots of soju were downed. Turns out this group is a mountain climbing club, and they meet to climb a different mountain every week.
When it came time to pay the bill, my hosts refused to allow me to contribute a single won to the bill, despite my many offers to do so. Then, as we split up near the train station, Mr. Ahn, the head of the club, bought a big bag of oranges from a street vendor and insisted I take two with me.
So, to recap, these strangers that I met by random chance saved my ass on the rock face, got me pretty well hammered, bought me dinner, and sent me on my way full, drunk, and with a couple of oranges for the road. How often do you think that happens in, say, Aspen?
Shang-whore
originally posted on 4/23/07
God I fucking love Itaewon, as I'm sure you know already. My latest reason? Look no further than my last time there. (and by last time there, I mean when I wrote this in a notebook 2 weeks ago, as I've been back to Itaewon since then and now have even better stories for a future blog. Stay with me though, this one is no slouch either.)
I was with my dad, on his last night in Seoul, and he was shopping for souvenirs, so I went to a bar. 3 Alley Pub, for the secondary reason that it's a good bar to go to at 8 p.m. or so, and much more importantly, my primary reason was actually number 2. That's right, in that department, 3 Alley is to Itaewon what Wild Wings is to downtown Lawrence.
3 Alley has a solid beer selection for Korea, and also an older crowd much of the time - the middle aged set. I watched the Superbowl there because of that. I figured if I'm watching the Bears, I'd rather do it amongst a bunch of crusty retired army guys in my dad's demo who cared about the game rather than a bunch of 20-something English teachers (which I realize I am) at some other bar.
Anyway, so I order a Guinness, and the middle-aged dude next to me at the bar strikes up a conversation. He's from LA, he's lived here for years, is in some sort of legitimate non-English teaching business, has a Korean wife, the whole 9. As often happens when talking to westerners (or anyone, really) we start talking travel, exchanging stories of Paris, Rome, Hong Kong, and other places we had both been. He asks me about Shanghai. I've not been to Shanghai, but I say I hope to go, which I do. Keep in mind, I'd been talking to this guy for maybe 7 minutes at this point, if that.
He (unsolicitedly) advises me that it's bad to cruise for whores in parts of a city known for it's hookers, but he made that mistake in Shanghai. So, he picked up this hooker in Shanghai's most notorious red light district (which, by the way, must be fucking awesome, whores aside. I mean, the shady, lawless part of Shanghai? Fuckin' A!) and took her back to his hotel, did the deed, and passed out with the hooker still there in the room. He was awoken at 4 a.m. or so with her "flopping around like a fish out of water," - direct quote there - and didn't know what to do.
This was the least intriguing part of his story, the mushy middle between the set- up and the punchline, so unfortunately I forget the specifics of what he did about this situation. If I were a better or less lazy writer, I would have made something up to fill the gap, but frankly I just want to move the plot along. I guess he took her to the hospital or something, I don't know.
Anyway, the next night, he returned to the bar where he met her originally to speak with the barkeep/pimp, apparently to register a formal complaint. After listening to Middle-Aged LA Guy's story, the bartender/pimp said, "wait, you didn't take her to get heroin before you took her home? What were you thinking, man?"
At this point, my Guinness was done and it was time to meet my dad elsewhere. In parting though, I gotta say, you hear some crazy shit at say, the Replay or the Holiday, but I've never had some middle aged guy I've known for less than 10 minutes tell a story about a Shanghai whore with a brutal case of the heroin DTs. Which, again, is why Itaewon rules.
God I fucking love Itaewon, as I'm sure you know already. My latest reason? Look no further than my last time there. (and by last time there, I mean when I wrote this in a notebook 2 weeks ago, as I've been back to Itaewon since then and now have even better stories for a future blog. Stay with me though, this one is no slouch either.)
I was with my dad, on his last night in Seoul, and he was shopping for souvenirs, so I went to a bar. 3 Alley Pub, for the secondary reason that it's a good bar to go to at 8 p.m. or so, and much more importantly, my primary reason was actually number 2. That's right, in that department, 3 Alley is to Itaewon what Wild Wings is to downtown Lawrence.
3 Alley has a solid beer selection for Korea, and also an older crowd much of the time - the middle aged set. I watched the Superbowl there because of that. I figured if I'm watching the Bears, I'd rather do it amongst a bunch of crusty retired army guys in my dad's demo who cared about the game rather than a bunch of 20-something English teachers (which I realize I am) at some other bar.
Anyway, so I order a Guinness, and the middle-aged dude next to me at the bar strikes up a conversation. He's from LA, he's lived here for years, is in some sort of legitimate non-English teaching business, has a Korean wife, the whole 9. As often happens when talking to westerners (or anyone, really) we start talking travel, exchanging stories of Paris, Rome, Hong Kong, and other places we had both been. He asks me about Shanghai. I've not been to Shanghai, but I say I hope to go, which I do. Keep in mind, I'd been talking to this guy for maybe 7 minutes at this point, if that.
He (unsolicitedly) advises me that it's bad to cruise for whores in parts of a city known for it's hookers, but he made that mistake in Shanghai. So, he picked up this hooker in Shanghai's most notorious red light district (which, by the way, must be fucking awesome, whores aside. I mean, the shady, lawless part of Shanghai? Fuckin' A!) and took her back to his hotel, did the deed, and passed out with the hooker still there in the room. He was awoken at 4 a.m. or so with her "flopping around like a fish out of water," - direct quote there - and didn't know what to do.
This was the least intriguing part of his story, the mushy middle between the set- up and the punchline, so unfortunately I forget the specifics of what he did about this situation. If I were a better or less lazy writer, I would have made something up to fill the gap, but frankly I just want to move the plot along. I guess he took her to the hospital or something, I don't know.
Anyway, the next night, he returned to the bar where he met her originally to speak with the barkeep/pimp, apparently to register a formal complaint. After listening to Middle-Aged LA Guy's story, the bartender/pimp said, "wait, you didn't take her to get heroin before you took her home? What were you thinking, man?"
At this point, my Guinness was done and it was time to meet my dad elsewhere. In parting though, I gotta say, you hear some crazy shit at say, the Replay or the Holiday, but I've never had some middle aged guy I've known for less than 10 minutes tell a story about a Shanghai whore with a brutal case of the heroin DTs. Which, again, is why Itaewon rules.
Base-a-bol
originally posted on 4/24/07
Man, was this ever sweet. I went to a Korean baseball game recently, and it lived up to my expectations in a big way. Sloppy play, strange and complicated chants, cheap beer, loose smoking policies, and cheerleaders – really this game had it all.
Lets start with the cheerleaders. They were hot. And at a baseball game. An in the stands. More on this later.
The stadium is in the Olympic complex, next to the giant white elephant Olympic Stadium, which is no longer used even for low level Korean league soccer games. The baseball stadium is small, I'd say a capacity of 20,000 at best, and was maybe half full. It's also about the same age as New Comiskey, yet feels as old as Shea. The small crowd was really the only downer. It was the second game of the season, and the first on a weekend day, and it was a beautiful day in the metropolis of 23 million. Seems like such a game would draw more people.
Inside the stadium is hilarious. The concession stands are actually convenience store stands, run by a large local c-store chain. They sell hot dogs, at least, along with canned beer, smokes, squid jerky, and your usual convenience needs. Other food options were Burger King and KFC, at normal prices, plus you can bring any type of food (or drink) you want into the stadium.
The altogether set up of the stands is not drastically different from that of a high school football game (or baseball, but who the fuck ever went to a high school baseball game?) with the home team's fans (LG) sitting on the first base side, and the equally large away-team contingent (Kia) sitting on the third base side. Both teams' cheerleaders and drummers were at the front of their respective sections. Also, much like at a high school football game, at least in my day, you can smoke simply by walking up to the higher seats. Still in the lower bowl of course, the stadium only has one deck, which means that every seat is fucking awesome, and even the smoking "areas" provided a great view of the game.
The corporate aspect of the game was quite different from an MLB game. The stadium has no corporate name, there aren't many ads inside the stadium, no commercials on the Jumbotron, and there are no skyboxes. Yet, the teams themselves are named for corporations. Strangely, the corporate moniker replaces the city name rather than the team nickname. It's not Seoul LG versus Gwangju Kia, it's the LG Twins versus the Kia Tigers. It wasn't until speaking to a Korean friend at the bar later that I even learned where Kia hailed from, as their hometown was never mentioned at the game.
There's Thunderstix. Dear god, are there Thunderstix. The LG fans had red ones, and the Kia fans had yellow. I have no fucking clue where they got them, but my buddy and I were probably the only people there without them.
They sell draft beer in the stands. Guys with keg backpacks walk around the stands selling it. A beer is a cool 3 bucks, and just like everywhere else here, there's no tip. There's no seventh inning stretch, but also no last call for beers, which is a trade-off I can live with.
Not surprisingly, professionalism in the MLB sense was lacking from the whole operation. For example, there is a Jumbotron, and the game was televised nationally thus proving that there were cameras at the game, yet they never showed any replays or live action on the screen. In fact, the Jumbotron was blank for most of the game. At the start of each at-bat, they would show a picture of the player batting, his stats, and his name (all in Korean of course, but I could theoretically figure it out) but they would keep this informative screen up for maybe 3 seconds, so it was impossible to actually learn any player names or anything about them at all. There was also a lack of pro-syle on the field as well, as the game was chock full of hilarious errors and 100 km/hour "fast balls."
Perhaps the strangest phenomenon regarding attending a foreign sporting event is the overall foreign-ness of it. By this, I mean the team songs and team cheers that everyone knew. Like a European soccer match, but somehow weirder and more conformist in the Asian style. I sat on the LG side at the game, and LG got their asses kicked, yet everyone was happy all game. I mean, I know, it's baseball, and a day at the ballpark is a day at the ballpark, but this trumped anything I'd seen, even at Wrigley. The crowd seemed quite excited to be losing. At the midpoint of the 9th, and LG down 9-1, there was a rousing round of team songs and chants, with everyone on the LG side singing along. And it wasn't a dwindling crowd, virtually every person stayed until the bitter end, when LG hit into a no-on, 2-out 3-2 fly-out to settle the game at 9-2. Will I go back? Fuck yeah.
Man, was this ever sweet. I went to a Korean baseball game recently, and it lived up to my expectations in a big way. Sloppy play, strange and complicated chants, cheap beer, loose smoking policies, and cheerleaders – really this game had it all.
Lets start with the cheerleaders. They were hot. And at a baseball game. An in the stands. More on this later.
The stadium is in the Olympic complex, next to the giant white elephant Olympic Stadium, which is no longer used even for low level Korean league soccer games. The baseball stadium is small, I'd say a capacity of 20,000 at best, and was maybe half full. It's also about the same age as New Comiskey, yet feels as old as Shea. The small crowd was really the only downer. It was the second game of the season, and the first on a weekend day, and it was a beautiful day in the metropolis of 23 million. Seems like such a game would draw more people.
Inside the stadium is hilarious. The concession stands are actually convenience store stands, run by a large local c-store chain. They sell hot dogs, at least, along with canned beer, smokes, squid jerky, and your usual convenience needs. Other food options were Burger King and KFC, at normal prices, plus you can bring any type of food (or drink) you want into the stadium.
The altogether set up of the stands is not drastically different from that of a high school football game (or baseball, but who the fuck ever went to a high school baseball game?) with the home team's fans (LG) sitting on the first base side, and the equally large away-team contingent (Kia) sitting on the third base side. Both teams' cheerleaders and drummers were at the front of their respective sections. Also, much like at a high school football game, at least in my day, you can smoke simply by walking up to the higher seats. Still in the lower bowl of course, the stadium only has one deck, which means that every seat is fucking awesome, and even the smoking "areas" provided a great view of the game.
The corporate aspect of the game was quite different from an MLB game. The stadium has no corporate name, there aren't many ads inside the stadium, no commercials on the Jumbotron, and there are no skyboxes. Yet, the teams themselves are named for corporations. Strangely, the corporate moniker replaces the city name rather than the team nickname. It's not Seoul LG versus Gwangju Kia, it's the LG Twins versus the Kia Tigers. It wasn't until speaking to a Korean friend at the bar later that I even learned where Kia hailed from, as their hometown was never mentioned at the game.
There's Thunderstix. Dear god, are there Thunderstix. The LG fans had red ones, and the Kia fans had yellow. I have no fucking clue where they got them, but my buddy and I were probably the only people there without them.
They sell draft beer in the stands. Guys with keg backpacks walk around the stands selling it. A beer is a cool 3 bucks, and just like everywhere else here, there's no tip. There's no seventh inning stretch, but also no last call for beers, which is a trade-off I can live with.
Not surprisingly, professionalism in the MLB sense was lacking from the whole operation. For example, there is a Jumbotron, and the game was televised nationally thus proving that there were cameras at the game, yet they never showed any replays or live action on the screen. In fact, the Jumbotron was blank for most of the game. At the start of each at-bat, they would show a picture of the player batting, his stats, and his name (all in Korean of course, but I could theoretically figure it out) but they would keep this informative screen up for maybe 3 seconds, so it was impossible to actually learn any player names or anything about them at all. There was also a lack of pro-syle on the field as well, as the game was chock full of hilarious errors and 100 km/hour "fast balls."
Perhaps the strangest phenomenon regarding attending a foreign sporting event is the overall foreign-ness of it. By this, I mean the team songs and team cheers that everyone knew. Like a European soccer match, but somehow weirder and more conformist in the Asian style. I sat on the LG side at the game, and LG got their asses kicked, yet everyone was happy all game. I mean, I know, it's baseball, and a day at the ballpark is a day at the ballpark, but this trumped anything I'd seen, even at Wrigley. The crowd seemed quite excited to be losing. At the midpoint of the 9th, and LG down 9-1, there was a rousing round of team songs and chants, with everyone on the LG side singing along. And it wasn't a dwindling crowd, virtually every person stayed until the bitter end, when LG hit into a no-on, 2-out 3-2 fly-out to settle the game at 9-2. Will I go back? Fuck yeah.
April is the Coolest Month
originally posted on 5/1/07
I am on fucking fire. These days, I walk into the bar like I own it, and more often then not, I do. This month I've done things that I'll talk about for the rest of my life, and that other people will talk about for the rest of theirs. I may no be truly immortal or bulletproof, but I'm pretty fucking close.
Let me back up. April was supposed to be a sandwich month. My dad was here in March, Wiley is coming in May, and I sent the majority of my paycheck home to pay the old credit card, so I was pretty much broke all month. After Dad's visit, I had a couple new books, a new video game, and some new DVDs. I was 100% prepared to lay low in my apartment.
So what happened? Turned out I ate a lot of peanut butter sandwiches and ramen (sometimes even in the same meal) so I could spend maybe 80% of my remaining money going out. And, through brilliant and creative budgeting, it all worked. I went out in Itaewon and Hongdae multiple times each, along with Gangnam and Hyehwa to boot, all while solidifying my growing "institution" role at Dragon Bar, a fairly boring local place but still head and shoulders the best bar in the hood.
I went to a baseball game. I climbed a mountain (to the top this time). I've written more than I have in forever (self evident, I guess). I've taken up darts. I've played chess for the first time in years. I've read three books, though I am still slowly slogging through Crime and Punishment. I've made a new Korean buddy, and ran into an old one I haven't seen since October. I've studied a little Korean (ass is undongi, which I find sensible) though not enough. And I've hardly touched my new video game in weeks.
So, you're saying to yourself, good for you Todd, so you're writing and drinking and playing chess. What else is new? What about the ladies? Same old Todd, right?
Not exactly. In April's opening weekend, involving a punk rock show in Hongdae and getting Lawrence-in-2002-level silly plastered, I spent the latter part of the night speaking in a Borat accent and hitting on any girl that came within five feet of me. The next weekend was the aforementioned baseball game, where the only girls I talked to were-the-cheerleaders. The third weekend was epic. It may not be my all time top weekend, but it's in the conversation, and undoubtedly in the top five.
As I've said before, this is a family blog, literally, since most of my family reads it. I'll say this – I danced in the club with this girl for much of the night. At some point, my buddy Don said "Dude, that girl is out of your league."
I replied, "Don, what's the first thing I ever told you about me and baseball? I'm a Royals fan. I may not always win, but I play in the major leagues exclusively." And you know what? Sometimes, the Royals beat the Yankees. And sometimes, this night for example, I find myself in a hastily-put-together and contrived love triangle involving myself, a beautiful Korean girl, and some white dude twice my size. And sometimes, like this night, I threaten and intimidate said gorilla to the point he backs off and I win over the girl all at the same time.
Of course, like in all great nights, I couldn't have worked alone, quality wing manning was necessary. To this end, I credit my buddy Don, but beyond this, I proved a scant 6 days later that the world has produced few better wingmen than your humble narrator. I was, in fact, beyond wingman, almost to puppet-master proportions. I met the girl, I introduced her to Don, I got them talking, I left the area to play darts with a girl I wasn't interested in and to provide logistical support, and I went back to the table to further sell the girl on Don later on. And, in an ingenious move, when it seemed Don definitely had the girl, I surreptitiously grabbed Don's phone to call myself, then answered my phone and pretended I was being called away. Rappers say pimpin' ain't easy. Horseshit. Darts ain't easy. Chess ain't easy (though I am 4-0 on my comeback tour.) Pimpin' is fucking simple.
So, things aren't awful with the ladies. I actually made a self-deprecating joke about my anti-abilities there the other night, and it felt forced and dishonest. This is strange, as self-deprecating jokes about my lack of game has been my bread and butter for the last twenty years or so.
Things aren't perfect, of course. Is there a girl I like-like now? Well, I reckon there is. Has anything happened there? Absolutely not. But at the same time, while nothing has happened to indicate she likes me, more importantly, nothing has happened to indicate she doesn't. I used to think she was out of my league. Now, I'm learning to see leagues a little differently. Go Royals!
I am on fucking fire. These days, I walk into the bar like I own it, and more often then not, I do. This month I've done things that I'll talk about for the rest of my life, and that other people will talk about for the rest of theirs. I may no be truly immortal or bulletproof, but I'm pretty fucking close.
Let me back up. April was supposed to be a sandwich month. My dad was here in March, Wiley is coming in May, and I sent the majority of my paycheck home to pay the old credit card, so I was pretty much broke all month. After Dad's visit, I had a couple new books, a new video game, and some new DVDs. I was 100% prepared to lay low in my apartment.
So what happened? Turned out I ate a lot of peanut butter sandwiches and ramen (sometimes even in the same meal) so I could spend maybe 80% of my remaining money going out. And, through brilliant and creative budgeting, it all worked. I went out in Itaewon and Hongdae multiple times each, along with Gangnam and Hyehwa to boot, all while solidifying my growing "institution" role at Dragon Bar, a fairly boring local place but still head and shoulders the best bar in the hood.
I went to a baseball game. I climbed a mountain (to the top this time). I've written more than I have in forever (self evident, I guess). I've taken up darts. I've played chess for the first time in years. I've read three books, though I am still slowly slogging through Crime and Punishment. I've made a new Korean buddy, and ran into an old one I haven't seen since October. I've studied a little Korean (ass is undongi, which I find sensible) though not enough. And I've hardly touched my new video game in weeks.
So, you're saying to yourself, good for you Todd, so you're writing and drinking and playing chess. What else is new? What about the ladies? Same old Todd, right?
Not exactly. In April's opening weekend, involving a punk rock show in Hongdae and getting Lawrence-in-2002-level silly plastered, I spent the latter part of the night speaking in a Borat accent and hitting on any girl that came within five feet of me. The next weekend was the aforementioned baseball game, where the only girls I talked to were-the-cheerleaders. The third weekend was epic. It may not be my all time top weekend, but it's in the conversation, and undoubtedly in the top five.
As I've said before, this is a family blog, literally, since most of my family reads it. I'll say this – I danced in the club with this girl for much of the night. At some point, my buddy Don said "Dude, that girl is out of your league."
I replied, "Don, what's the first thing I ever told you about me and baseball? I'm a Royals fan. I may not always win, but I play in the major leagues exclusively." And you know what? Sometimes, the Royals beat the Yankees. And sometimes, this night for example, I find myself in a hastily-put-together and contrived love triangle involving myself, a beautiful Korean girl, and some white dude twice my size. And sometimes, like this night, I threaten and intimidate said gorilla to the point he backs off and I win over the girl all at the same time.
Of course, like in all great nights, I couldn't have worked alone, quality wing manning was necessary. To this end, I credit my buddy Don, but beyond this, I proved a scant 6 days later that the world has produced few better wingmen than your humble narrator. I was, in fact, beyond wingman, almost to puppet-master proportions. I met the girl, I introduced her to Don, I got them talking, I left the area to play darts with a girl I wasn't interested in and to provide logistical support, and I went back to the table to further sell the girl on Don later on. And, in an ingenious move, when it seemed Don definitely had the girl, I surreptitiously grabbed Don's phone to call myself, then answered my phone and pretended I was being called away. Rappers say pimpin' ain't easy. Horseshit. Darts ain't easy. Chess ain't easy (though I am 4-0 on my comeback tour.) Pimpin' is fucking simple.
So, things aren't awful with the ladies. I actually made a self-deprecating joke about my anti-abilities there the other night, and it felt forced and dishonest. This is strange, as self-deprecating jokes about my lack of game has been my bread and butter for the last twenty years or so.
Things aren't perfect, of course. Is there a girl I like-like now? Well, I reckon there is. Has anything happened there? Absolutely not. But at the same time, while nothing has happened to indicate she likes me, more importantly, nothing has happened to indicate she doesn't. I used to think she was out of my league. Now, I'm learning to see leagues a little differently. Go Royals!
Dirty Pop
originally posted on 5/9/07
I can't promise that there won't be any spelling errors in this blog, or at least well fewer than usual, as I am typing this directly into myspace instead of on Word, as my computer is once again ill. Which shows how much I love you people, I'm at a fucking web cafe writing this instead of just waiting until tomorrow. Also, this is the second blog I've written while being 87% happy with my current circumstance, so hopefully it has some bite. Prefaces aside...
I'm a sucker for situational pop songs. I imagine that I'm not the only one like that, but my iPod is absolutely littered with cheesy throwaway pop songs that I would almost certainly not care for, dislike, or despise if not for the specific circumstances surrounding said songs, especially early in their lives, or at least in their relationships with me (ie, their lives, so far as I'm concerned.) I am cognitively aware that, say, Lou Bega's "Mambo # 5" or Eiffle 65's "I'm Blue" aren't particularly luminescent tracks, though both have catchy hooks. Yet, both were completely intertwined with my Euro days, thus will always have a home in the pod, and both will always get me on the floor in the (increasingly) rare times they are played in a club.
I could say the same for certain shitty rock songs, shitty punk songs, shitty rap songs, and shitty country songs that I only like due to the situation I first heard them, but the pop songs are always more embarrassing. It's easier to explain why I like and posses a shitty Ignite song or Motley Crue song or 50 Cent song than, say, explaining why I like and posses a shitty Backstreet Boys song.
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that, not surprisingly, a new shitty pop song has come into my life. I had little control over it. And I don't even have an official memory of the first time I heard it, the input time, the time that really mattered.
Recently, I was shooting darts with a buddy at Dragon Bar (the local joint where everybody knows my name - Toodah) and the song came on. The connection was near primal. I knew this song. But from where? And why? It's just a cheesy pop song at Dragon, one of a hundred, so why should I connect to this? What made me listen intently throughout its 3 minute duration? What made me go up to the bar staff to ask its name? Clearly, this song had mattered to me recently. Though I had cognitively (I know, time for a thesaurus. And a diksionariry.) forgotten it, my internal pod had remembered it and given it 4 stars.
I mentioned, though not in name, Spy Bar in my previous blog. It was in the venerable Spy Bar in Itaewon where I was dancing with the previously mentioned gorgeous girl in the previously mentioned top-5 weekend. It occurred to me that it was in Spy Bar that I had first heard this song, while in a key point of the pursuit of her. Due to the overall craziness of Spy Bar that night (read: bourbon) the song totally escaped me at its origin.
Needless to say, I downloaded the song the next afternoon, and listened to it 4 times in a row. What song was it? Does it really matter? You know it's a cheesy throwaway, and it's the significance that matters, not the title, right? Alright, alright, it was Nelly Furtado's new song, "Say it Right." And yeah, I'm not a Nelly Furtado fan, and I've hated all the songs on her new record. But you know what? "Say it Right" has a good hook, and top notch pop production quality, complete with a faraway sound and a chorus proclaiming "You don't mean nothing at all to me." Did I mention I was dancing with an insanely hot girl when I first heard it?
It's on the pod now, likely to stay. I don't care what you think. That song, despite it's apparent suckiness, is a fucking awesome pop song. Just like Mambo # 5.
Endnote - other than the preface, I wrote all of this in my notebook in a bar a week and a half ago, which out here seems to be about 38 minutes long, as well enough time for a whole shitload of stuff to happen. And, as the Spy Bar girl has already become yesterday's news, so has Nelly Furtado. In fact, while hanging out with a new girl last night, what song happened to come on at a key point? yeah, that's right, none other than Mambo Motherfucking Number Five.
I can't promise that there won't be any spelling errors in this blog, or at least well fewer than usual, as I am typing this directly into myspace instead of on Word, as my computer is once again ill. Which shows how much I love you people, I'm at a fucking web cafe writing this instead of just waiting until tomorrow. Also, this is the second blog I've written while being 87% happy with my current circumstance, so hopefully it has some bite. Prefaces aside...
I'm a sucker for situational pop songs. I imagine that I'm not the only one like that, but my iPod is absolutely littered with cheesy throwaway pop songs that I would almost certainly not care for, dislike, or despise if not for the specific circumstances surrounding said songs, especially early in their lives, or at least in their relationships with me (ie, their lives, so far as I'm concerned.) I am cognitively aware that, say, Lou Bega's "Mambo # 5" or Eiffle 65's "I'm Blue" aren't particularly luminescent tracks, though both have catchy hooks. Yet, both were completely intertwined with my Euro days, thus will always have a home in the pod, and both will always get me on the floor in the (increasingly) rare times they are played in a club.
I could say the same for certain shitty rock songs, shitty punk songs, shitty rap songs, and shitty country songs that I only like due to the situation I first heard them, but the pop songs are always more embarrassing. It's easier to explain why I like and posses a shitty Ignite song or Motley Crue song or 50 Cent song than, say, explaining why I like and posses a shitty Backstreet Boys song.
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that, not surprisingly, a new shitty pop song has come into my life. I had little control over it. And I don't even have an official memory of the first time I heard it, the input time, the time that really mattered.
Recently, I was shooting darts with a buddy at Dragon Bar (the local joint where everybody knows my name - Toodah) and the song came on. The connection was near primal. I knew this song. But from where? And why? It's just a cheesy pop song at Dragon, one of a hundred, so why should I connect to this? What made me listen intently throughout its 3 minute duration? What made me go up to the bar staff to ask its name? Clearly, this song had mattered to me recently. Though I had cognitively (I know, time for a thesaurus. And a diksionariry.) forgotten it, my internal pod had remembered it and given it 4 stars.
I mentioned, though not in name, Spy Bar in my previous blog. It was in the venerable Spy Bar in Itaewon where I was dancing with the previously mentioned gorgeous girl in the previously mentioned top-5 weekend. It occurred to me that it was in Spy Bar that I had first heard this song, while in a key point of the pursuit of her. Due to the overall craziness of Spy Bar that night (read: bourbon) the song totally escaped me at its origin.
Needless to say, I downloaded the song the next afternoon, and listened to it 4 times in a row. What song was it? Does it really matter? You know it's a cheesy throwaway, and it's the significance that matters, not the title, right? Alright, alright, it was Nelly Furtado's new song, "Say it Right." And yeah, I'm not a Nelly Furtado fan, and I've hated all the songs on her new record. But you know what? "Say it Right" has a good hook, and top notch pop production quality, complete with a faraway sound and a chorus proclaiming "You don't mean nothing at all to me." Did I mention I was dancing with an insanely hot girl when I first heard it?
It's on the pod now, likely to stay. I don't care what you think. That song, despite it's apparent suckiness, is a fucking awesome pop song. Just like Mambo # 5.
Endnote - other than the preface, I wrote all of this in my notebook in a bar a week and a half ago, which out here seems to be about 38 minutes long, as well enough time for a whole shitload of stuff to happen. And, as the Spy Bar girl has already become yesterday's news, so has Nelly Furtado. In fact, while hanging out with a new girl last night, what song happened to come on at a key point? yeah, that's right, none other than Mambo Motherfucking Number Five.
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