First Korean film (sans subs)

I went to see this movie - http://www.film2.co.kr/moviedb/default.asp?mkey=40636
entirely in Korean and I understood the gist of it, not too difficult considering the audience and genre, but I could only laugh at the slapstick.

I went with a girl plus her friend, the former whom I met on the interweb. The friend wants to learn English, but she was too embarrassed to actually try, or to ask me any questions. We went to Indio, a trendy pub around Suwonyok, and then we played some pocketball. The whole place was filled with macho Korean men who pretty much stared me down the whole night as I played with two (of their???) women, the only ones there. So I was a litle put off my game, but I still managed 2 for 3. Then we went to CGV for the movie. They paid for everything but the popcorn (!). So, I had fun, but did they? I dunno, and that's the thing about trying to get a Korean girlfriend. Who the fizzick will know what they're thinking until they stop calling a few days later? Not you my anglophone friends. Not you.

In other media watch news, I recommend the album 'Touch' by Amerie, the reincarnation of Aaliyah.

Rejected

Some people don't respect McSweeneys, but either those people have a huge chip on their shoulder, are incredibly 'out there' conceptually, or they are just bitter and untalented. I, on the other hand, bask in failure fearlessly, and so, against my better judgement, here is my unfunny Spongebob submission - rejected by Mcsweeneys. My first real (literary) rejection. Although certainly not my first rejection. If you think about the similarities and differences between romantic rejections and literary rejections, it's kinda funny. And hey, there's the inspiration for my next submission! (provided it hasn't already been done - to the Googlemobile!)



Spongebob Squarepants Comes Clean.

I was patient at first. Maybe too patient. When you’re porous yellow and absorbent sometimes you’re going to have to take the fall and clean up other people’s messes. Let no one say that I ever shirked or crumpled under that heavy burden - at least not without bouncing right back. There comes a time though, when you need to draw a line in the sand, and then re-draw it really quickly after it washes away. And then do it again. Once more. There comes a time when a sponge has to stand up for himself. He might also say “Patrick, could you please draw that line in the sand again, since I can’t see it now.”

No one expected that one day a humble fry cook from Bikini Bottom would lay bare the hypocrisy and rot that eats away at the foundation of this place. On that day I would strike mightily at the decadence that twists and blackens the heart of my home – the pineapple heart. No, not mildew. Well, yes, mildew but also corruption. Chlorine bleach for the mildew, vigilante justice for the corruption. That shift at the Krusty Krab was the last straw – but actually I was saving the last straw to stab Mr. Krabs repeatedly between the carapace and the thoracic joint. And again with the sand line, please.

I come from simple folk - sessile filter feeders. In fact, structurally, Ma and Pa may be the simplest in all of Bikini Bottom. Salt of the earth. Sea earth. Salt of the seas. They weren’t good with money but we were happy. I never had the benefit of a college education, but I was a quick learner and I had an uncanny ability to retain knowledge. I tried to read everything I could get my hands on and one day they told me I was ready to try for a scholarship. I had high hopes but I should have known a guy like me wouldn’t be allowed to evolve in ‘their’ system. They said I was soft. I said I was flexible. They said I was gutless. No guts. I let that soak in. Yeah I know I’m never going to have a rigid outer shell or an internal skeleton, but that doesn’t mean I’m spineless. Well, technically I am, but I’m not afraid. Not anymore.

As a fry cook I can accept that I’ll take on some of the more unpleasant chores. I don’t want to come across as some big-shot Supersponge. I can just hear what they’d say – Spongebob Squarepants – too big for his britches. Spongebob FancyPants. But still…“Spongebob, swab this, Spongebob, wipe that. Spongebob, there’s been an ‘incident’ in the men’s room that calls for your specialized skills!” I know when I’m being talked down to, and frankly I don’t appreciate it. Day after day, I was completely wrung out by the end. And did I get any credit? Any thanks? Free Krabby Patties? Hah! How long did they think I would stand for that? I may be full of holes but I have integrity. They treated me like a common loofah. No more!

When the day came, Mr. Krabs was counting his money, as usual completely unaware of the world around him when he’s not barking orders. I needed someone on the inside, someone who hated him as much as I did. As agreed, my accomplice would lock up early while I lathered up and slid silently into the office. Normally Squidward and I can’t collaborate on anything but on this ‘issue’ we saw eye to eyestalk and it ‘clicked’. The sound of a straw plunging into real crab meat - click. It felt good. I did it again. Click. And again. click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick. The next thing I remember is Patrick staring over me, shaking me, parting the red tides.
Gary (my pet snail) and I dined well that night, although I couldn’t get the hang of the ‘bib’, something to do with my neck, or lack of one. I’m still paying for that too - try getting the grease stains out of alpine umber shorts. Think you can find lederhosen pleated Dockers at Wal-Mart? Good luck.

McSweeneys

Have finally finished the finishing touches for my McSweeneys submission. The idea is to get published online as a way to promote the confidence necessary to start working on something bigger (Bannerman). The piece centered around Spongebob Squarepants breaking free of his surly employer, Mr. Krabs, and in doing so, killing him violently. Small proletariat uprisings, actually, are a common theme in my writing, and maybe not so coincidentally, in my daydreams.



Actually, the piece was a little disconnected and I had lost enthusiasm for the topic by the third draft, so I'm not expecting it to go up.

I could spend my whole life reading McSweeneys. It's the purple patio bug light for witty people who don't have the time or conversely, have too much money or sense to become professional writers. I'm a little bit worried that I have spent too much time in anti-intellectual pursuits or pursued low-brow entertainment too fervently to be able to ape the conventions of writing humourously for educated people.

I guess I'll keep reading and trying until I give up or die or both. It worked for me with the Globe and Mail Daily Challenge (ca. 1995?), although even my girlfriend at the time got her entry accepted before I did.

Sleep

I haven't been getting much sleep lately, on account of unusual things happening around the apartment, and also, the cursed internet. I cannot resist it's lure!



On Thursday RolyPoly Rosie got locked out of her apartment. I was playing Jade and making lots of noise, so I couldn't pretend to be asleep. I would have helped regardless, since I have forgotten or lost so many keys as to make me very sympathetic to apartmentless refugees. I climbed on top of her a/c exhaust fan (mounted OUTSIDE! My a/c is inside my apartment making half of it cool and the other half, counterproductively hot) and then hauled myself up on the somewhat fragile gas pipes that run the length of the building. Then I shimmied over to her window, had some difficulty finding a foothold, and then I squirmed in through the open window. Once inside, the tricky part was not breaking her laptop. It was on the table right under the window. I did a semi-handstand from the back of her chair and then vaulted on to the floor. Not bad for a sedentary computer geek. Maybe watching countless haours of Jade Empire acrobatics actually has translated into some kind of raw skill.

I also got a job working with Frankie 5 Fingers and his boss. They're willing to wait for me until I get back to Canada. I hope it's the right decision. It does put a hold on or permanently disrupt some of my other future plans, but the project sounds hella cool - making a children's books website. It will also be good to be back scheming again. I just hope I'll have enough free time to work on some writing.

Socka

In response to demand, I am making a super fast update about my last few days. I have started to move away from my nerdy blogging persona to a more active 'jock' type personality, which means that my blogging time is short.

I ran the Terry Fox marathon of hope (actually, only 10k of hope) and it was pretty difficult considering how out of shape I was. Still, I started strong and was only lapped by people who looked like professional athletes. I also got a wicked sunburn.

Then I went to a birthday party at an Indian restaurant in Itaewon. For someone who hates Itaewon as much as I do, I can't understand why I spend so much time there. I am clearly hanging out with the wrong kinds of people. The food was pretty good though I have to say - for anyone who is inclined - the restaurant is called 'Evergreen' except the sign says 'Eavergreen'. They were super nice and polite to us despite being a ragged band of foreigners with shaved heads, tattoos, garish clothes and manners.

I played soccer the next day and got another wicked sunburn (despite wearing layers of sunscreen). We lost, but that is not the most sensational part. With 10 minutes remaining, one of the weaker players (let's call him Fatty) was forced off after having only a few minutes of playing time. Well, we want to win and Fatty isn't the swiftest boot in the club. Fatty complains, which is his nature, and the sponsor of our team, let's call him Sarge, a former navy seal, a man with 3 years of army combat training, tells him to shut up. Fatty doesn't want to shut up. He continues to whine. Sarge shoves Fatty. Fatty, as foolish as he is begirthed, charges Sarge. Sarge cold-cocks Fatty who drops to his knees, Sarge then knees Fatty in the head. Fatty is out for the count.

This sort of internecine violence is pretty much unheard of in pro sport or amateur sport, or really, anywhere. So, the game stopped, and we all basically shouted 'Sarge, what the hell are you doing?' This precipitated hours of angry discussions, threats of filing with the authorities, both soccer and police, informal meetings, and the bus ride home was slightly more somber than usual. I did get a chance to meet an interesting guy who grew up in an ethnic Korean city in China. He speaks reasonable English, fluent Chinese and Korean. The modesty of these linguistic geniuses always humbles me. If I could speak a smattering of Chinese I'd boast about it whenever I had the opportunity.

When we reached the drop-off point (a university gate entrance, replete with neo-classical sculpture and marble columns) there was what I would like to think of as an Athenian style forum on the future of Sarge and the influence of his money on the team. Would we say goodbye to the free meals, the shuttles, the discounted shoes, the names on our shirts? There were several passionate speeches by the major players. Sarge is definitely full of too much testosterone, despite his age (37?) or maybe because of it, and he had difficulty appearing properly ashamed, so his apology fell a bit flat. Still, I think Fatty should not have been martyred as he was, since he brought at least a small part of this on himself. Most people didn't see the initial fracas, only Fatty's unconscious lumpy form. We sat on the steps and, much like ancient Greece I imagine, nothing was resolved.

Then we went out to a restaurant where I had the best Korean meal to date. It was like eating galbi at a galbi joint except that it was also a buffet where you could grab whatever you wanted, as much as you wanted and all for 6500 won. Here we truly shined. Off the pitch our team's gluttony cannot be matched.

Yesterday my students asked me why my nose was red. I said it was because I was drunk. "Teacher, do you think that soju is your water?" If I did lass, I wouldn't be here to tell you about it.

Best blog post about Korea

Not mine, naturally, as I'm far too humble to arrogate to myself the title of best blogger in Korea. Best-looking, possibly.

http://www.gordsellar.com/2005/08/14/its-really-like-living-in-a-graham-greene-novel-sometimes/#more-1782

It would seem that Gord has moved on, from Korea and from Korean concerns (to MMORPGs!), but his experience is the type that I'm striving for.

Crystal Method and Soccer

This was an amusing weekend - the quality of my blog tends to go up when I stop playing video games. Not much chance of that ever completely being phased out, but I am trying to get into shape.



So, on Saturday, Chris from London, Ont., quite possibly one of the greatest men in the world, invited me to go to the Crystal Method concert, right after I had stood him up for going hiking in Bukhansanseong. His is a faith in human nature (even my own) that I don't have.



So, I made it there. Yay, me. And I had a good time. I met up with another teacher from Suwon. I also saw the young woman I replaced at my school, a giant readhead that I'll call Lunatic Lacy. Lacy was a dancing fiend, sweating all over me, and various other people. She is way too manic to be friends with, but apart from that, she seems like a nice enough person. I have nothing else of interest to report, though not for lack of trying .



Vialli, the Polish teacher who let me crash at his friend's apartment in Apkujeong, recovering from a new made-in-Thailand tattoo, 180 pounds of solid muscle, also came up short and to add insult - he lost his cell phone. One piece of bad luck I have (touch wood) so far been able to avoid.



I was supposed to go to church this morning but Shelley, my guide to interdenominational English language faith, was too hung over (!) to go in the morning, and I had to play soccer at 4:30 today. She is a sinner. I will enjoy tormenting her as much as she has had fun at my expense. (That's a long story - but it involved me making a comment about buying a fictional 'crimson red flamboyant shirt' and the 'repartee' centered on the questionable sexuality of someone who would buy such an item.)



Soccer happened at the World Cup Stadium annex. The game was almost called off because it started to get dark and no one knew how to turn on the stadium lights, nor to contact the ajeoshi who had the magic powers to make it happen. Finally, after about an hour of warming up and watching the sun set, a van pulled up to the gates and the lights flashed to life.



I was playing in borrowed boots. A kind fellow Canadian who was also new to the team took one look at my Topus Multisports (made in Korea!) and offered me his backup pair of indoor shoes. I don't think they helped much, but my benefactor had the unfortunate luck of breaking his leg during the first half (I did NOT - another piece of bad luck dodged). No one was sure about what to do exactly, but in line with the general personality of the do-it-yourself adventurer, teacher, foreigner, everyone was trying to help and tell others what to do. Chaos. I looked concerned and folded my arms over my chest. I stared at the buxom girlfriends of other players. Only two good ideas came out of the group - first, grab some ibuprofen for the beleaguered, and second, call 119 (Koreans do everything backwards).



When the ambulance pulled up, it said "Gyeonggi fire department" on the side, and when it was backing up onto the pitch, it played Beethoven's Fur Elise. No, it's true. It's little things like that which make travelling abroad worthwhile. The EMTs seemed professional enough and they had his leg stabilized and onto the crash cart in good time. The van drove off and we ended up winning 7-4. The new guy's injury illustrated the importance of not getting into any sort of medical trouble away from home. If this had been a life-threatening injury he likely would have died from bungling. It was also interesting to hear the thought process of the injured player - "put me in coach, hahaha -ow."..."someone should call my employer" ..."I heard that in Korea they'll cast you all the way up to your ass. Is that true?"



My own performance was not so great, but I was just happy to get some running in. It was uncertain if I would get a chance to play at all. I am as outclassed as I remember being back in my club days (everyone being bigger, stronger, faster than me) except now everyone is YOUNGER than me too - but I do have a touch that could get better if I could find the time to practice. I aim to, and maybe I'll find a hard-won niche on this team. I'll be leaving before the end of the season, but that sort of transience is the essense of a foreigner.

TRANSIENCE "essence de l'etranger" by Calvin Klein

After the game there was a shuttle that would take players out to a restaurant for sponsored boozing (the sponsor is coming up huge, makes me wonder what Jason does for a living exactly), but I left with the people I came with so I could get a head start on this blog! Oh bully for you.

A Quick One While She's Away

I absolutely have to go to bed (must get up early to try and patch things up with the fambly) but I thought I'd tell this quick story before I forget it.

I've started exercising again (just started) and I remembered Suwon James telling me about how he went running on the SungKyungKwan U track. I had trouble finding it the first time, but I managed to locate it the last time out.

When I went there this Thursday, around lunch time, it was abandoned. The sun was out, it was hot, a perfect training environment. So I do my first lap. As I start my second lap, I almost trip over a small child, clothed in some sort of cloth diaper, a t-shirt, and a gigantic sun visor. It is crying the soulful, plaintive, timeless cry of children - an echo of the primordial pain of birth, life and eventual death. This kid is not holding back - it is getting a real workout, what with the bellowing after her..."omma" and walking at child-full-speed. But where is Omoni?

The answer is she is on the track, about 200 m in front of me, and power walking away from her helpless progeny. I catch up to her and slow down enough to try and gauge the mental state of a mom who just leaves her toddler to wander around an olympic size running oval. She is oblivious to me, so I do a mental shrug, lap the bawling child, and then lap mom again. At this point the wee one has lost sight of her mom completely and is wandering in the wrong direction, but the crying has not subsided in volume. Tough break kid - I guess this is how they make em tough in preparation for army service.

After a few more laps the whole scene became too pathetic for me -I daydreamed for a while about how quickly I'd get deported if I took matters into my own hands and then I just left. It was time to get ready for work anyway.