Top 4 Worst Gifts Given at Christmas

I've received some great Christmas gifts over my 23 years. A New York Giants Dave Brown jersey when I was 8. A package of 10 bags of Skittles when I was 17. Two pairs of corduroy pants when I was 20. I love corduroy pants. Almost uncomfortable with the amount of comfortability. Wish I could wear them to work. I have been known to wear them to bed in the winter. Belt and all.

But what about presents I've given to others? Honestly, I'm not much of a material person. My gifts to friends and family come in the form of friendship, finger points and smiles. But these sublime offerings don't seem to fly in our material society. So, I'm forced to go with the tangibles. People need to touch and hold their presents. What gives?

Over the years, I've given some good presents. But I've also purchased (or found) some pretty awful ones. Here are the top 4 worst gifts I've ever given to people:

4. Free Glee

Sorry Claire. Don't know if you ever knew this. Don't know if you even read my blog. You're not a follower. Why is that? Aren't you my sister? Where's the love? You make me sick.

The following is probably why you don't follow.

I was shopping at Old Navy in the Waterbury Mall, looking for some performance fleeces and cargo pants. It was early December, so I was also on the lookout for any good Christmas gifts. When I reached the cashier to pay for the green cargos, the woman offered me a small package (about the size of my wallet) for free! The package was actually a small hand towel that was wrapped up and folded over about 20 times. It had a nice little pink snowman stitched into the middle. Pink--Bathroom product--Girl. That's how my train of thought went 15 years ago. Who am I kidding? That train is still running at full speed today. It was the perfect gift for Claire.

Two weeks later I found it in our kitchen dish rag bucket. Sorry sis.

3. Jewelry Tomfoolery

I had a girlfriend once. That is not a joke. I actually did. So, come Christmas time, I felt pressured to purchase jewelry. I was in high school and really didn't know where to get the gift or what was appropriate. Should I buy gold? Silver? Bronze? Maybe I can weld something out of one of my old tee ball trophies.

Eventually, I ended up venturing into Claire's (again in the Waterbury Mall. Gave that place a plethora of awful business). Looking back on it today, I realize that Claire's sells jewelry made for 7 year olds or to outfit Halloween costumes. Plastic, blue and cheap. At the time, I really had no idea. It looked nice to me and isn't that the only person who should matter? The boyfriend? Ja'mon, Lee!

So I bought a necklace and set of earrings. She hated it. Probably re-gifted and sent both to her newborn baby cousin. Haven't had a girlfriend since.

2. Pasta for Costa

Secret Santa. A planned, obligatory exchange of presents = disaster mode for Matt Monagan. It was senior year and I had other things on my mind. SATs, girls, my next move in Yahoo Graffiti, Gogurt. I waited until the very last minute. The night before actually. John Costa was the lucky recipient this year. I had absolutely nothing to offer Johnny "Bowl of Pasta" Costa. Then I said his nickname out loud again to myself. Bowl of Pasta. BINGO!

I ran to my cupboard and pulled out a box of Angel Hair spaghetti. Costa had a good sense of humor. It would be a joke but also something that his entire family can enjoy. A meal. I'm giving food. As Jesus gave bread, I shall give pasta.

I stuck a 20 dollar bill under the top tab for good measure (or tomato sauce) and wrapped it. Costa loved it, but it still has to be one of the worst gifts I've ever given.

1. Stealing Suzi's Scarf

Another Secret Santa disaster. One of the worst things I've ever done. I will go to Hell because of this. I may not even be allowed into Hell. Does Hell have a prison? I think I would just be transferred directly to Hell's prison. Life in prison, in Hell.

It was junior year and once again, I didn't have a gift the night before. I was busy with PSATs, handbells, Snood and giving wedgies to freshman. The night before, I was actually at the Waterbury Mall going to see a movie. Figures this happened at the Waterbury Mall.

As my friends and I were walking through the parking lot and discussing why I didn't have a secret santa present for the next morning, I noticed a small scarf on the hood of a car. I walked over, picked it up and examined the front and back. I couldn't see much in the dark, but it seemed clean enough. My friends (being the great friends they were) agreed that this could suffice as a reasonable present for my female recipient. It probably would've been better if my recipient was blind.

So, when I returned home, I put the scarf under the faucet for a couple minutes, washing out any dirt/blood stains. I then began wrapping the dark blue garment in red, holiday paper. It actually looked pretty decent. That's when I noticed the tag. The owner had scrawled in the name "Suzi" on the white label.

What could I do? I didn't have white out. Should I scribble it out? That would look even worse. Should I try and morph "Suzi" into a from, "Santa"? Changing a "z" to an "n"? Didn't know if that had ever been done before. Should I cut off the tag? Yes. Looking back, that seems like the definite solution. But I was in panic mode and playing in a Party Poker 5 c/10 c blind tournament at the same time. I couldn't let HerbieFullyBloated beat me again.

So, I left Suzi's name on the tag. Maybe she'd think it was some kind of new designer. Suzi. It's a snazzy, designer sort of name.

I didn't stick around to find out if she enjoyed her gift the following day. I hid in a corner of the room. In fact, I never spoke to her again after that Christmas for fear of her using the scarf to strangle all the air out of my lungs. Maybe she loved it. Maybe she's still wearing it somewhere today. Maybe she met Suzi and the two of them are planning to kill me in my sleep.

Either way, I apologize to my unfortunate recipients and hope there are no hard feelings. I hope I have learned from these selfish acts on such an unselfish day. Hey, just remember, this list could've been a top 5 or top 10. I'm not that horrible.

Happy Holidays from Bermuda!

Who You Finnah Try??!

Lynch was doing the same thing to me yesterday. He kept singing "Cool Jerk" and smacking his chest in my face. I wound up and cold-clock decked him. Sent him up 3rd Ave and B2daBX.

2012 Presidential Candidate

My brother sent me this video yesterday. This guy ran for treasurer of Stark County, Ohio. By the end of the speech he's so exhausted, it seems as if he literally "ran" for the full 6 minutes. A mix between Chris Farley's character Matt Foley and Bill Murray. I have no idea how the audience isn't on the floor laughing. I was. Check it out. Might give you a few LOLs. I'm not republican, but would be for this guy:

The similarities are uncanny. Matt Foley, motivational speaker:

Loud i-pod, Small space

Got out of work and off the subway around 7 tonight. Had Lil' Wayne on the shuffle and on very high. Waltzed into the side door of my apartment building and flipped my room key high in the air. I was happy the day was done. The elevator came down to floor 1 and an attractive girl came strolling down the hallway to jump on with me. Weezy ended and, wouldn't you know it, "This Magic Moment" came on just as loud.

I tried to turn down the volume but couldn't find which pocket my i-pod was in. It wasn't in my coat pocket. Not in my pants pocket. It was very inconveniently lodged in the blazer pocket underneath my coat. Very difficult to get to. Why had I put it there? Why would anyone ever put it there?

I nervously glanced over at the red-haired woman as The Drifters blared through my headphones. She kind of looked like a mix between Jessica Rabbit and Raggedy Ann. Very sexy. I thought she heard the track and gave me a quick smile, but was probably just my imagination. I almost made like Squints Palledorous on Wendy Peffercorn, but thought better of it. Could've turned into a very tragic moment.

Go to 2:20 to see Squints make his move -

Surely, YOU can't be serious

He appeared in over 100 films and 1500 television programs. He has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. He portrayed more than 220 different characters in westerns, dramas, romances and comedies. He was a Disc Jockey before getting into the film business, had 4 separate wives (guy got game) and sported that distinctive white hairstyle that seems to always mask someone's age.

Needless to say, Leslie Nielsen's resume is recession proof. His IMDb listing is longer than Gheorge Muresean. He was inducted into the Canada Hall of Fame. Although, don't know how much credibility that provides. It's like being inducted into the Hopscotch Hall of Fame or winning the Hustle Award for your middle school ultimate frisbee team.

Detective Frank Drebin, Doctor Rumak, Mr. Magoo, President Baxter Harris, Commander JJ. Adams, Count Dracula.

Although he did act in serious roles early in his career, he has to be best remembered for his comedic performances. The movies where everything he said or did was a complete and utter joke. I remember watching Airplane!, Naked Gun and Dracula: Dead and Loving it for the first time and cackling until my sides were sore. Nielsen makes "To die laughing" a possible and preferable reality. Here are some great scenes from The Naked Gun. Careful not to pee yourself:

What is his best role of all time? It's an impossible question. A paradox. Every role is his best. I loved him in Airplane!, Naked Gun and even Superhero Movie. But, if I had to choose, I would have to go with a very underrated and small role in Scary Movie 3 (One of the greatest spoof films ever created). He plays President Harris. Think it's very similar to how George W. acted in the Oval Office:

But what Nielsen really taught me (other than how to drive a car or be a doctor) was to not take life too seriously. Joke around. Enjoy your time here. Make people laugh. Laughter brings comfort, which in turn brings happiness.

One of Nielsen's famous quotes is "Doing nothing is very hard to do...you never know when you're finished."

Well, after 84 successful years, you're finally finished, and that nothing has produced a whole lot.

GivingThanks

What do I have to be thankful for this year?

My health? I think I'm healthy. Although, I haven't been to a doctor in about 2 years. I don't even know the name of my physician. Or do I still see a pediatrician? Am I supposed to sign up to see a new doctor in NYC? Does Connecticare Healthcare work in a different state? Guess I just need to stay healthy.

My friends? Facebook tells me I have 671. Aguis to Zalewski. Girls, boys, men, women, grandmothers, dogs, about 300 fake profiles I created and friended myself with. Love hanging with all my friends, except for you Zalewski. I'm actually de-friending you right now.

My family? Dad, Mom, Big Mono and Claire. I'm thankful for you guys every single day of the year. Except for family reunions and other holiday celebrations. Just Joshin'.

But let's look at some other recent happenings I'm thankful for:

1. My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy. A big mac, 2 Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, a Chinese finger trap and a leprechaun. Oh...sorry. Kanye puts out an amazing album for only 3.99 on Amazon.com. No matter how much you hate his cocky, arrogant, elitist, selfish, ignant ways, Kanye is a fantastic producer and has some of the best collaborations on his LPs. He also has some great lines like: "Too many urkels on your team, that's why your Wins-low." You can't make this stuff up. Only Kanyecan.

2. That I'm not in South Korea right now. Or North for that matter. Although I would love to be working a 4-10 pm schedule and tallying 24 hours per week rather than 24 hours in 2 days. I also wouldn't mind a slice of that sweet egg bread and a hot plate of dalkalbi. You know what, maybe I'm not thankful for this. The conflict may look as if it's escalating, but there seem to be a few problems with the new NK leader. Some feelings of inadequacy for Kim Jong-Un. Nothing may happen at all. Read here.

3. Skoreit.com. I saw a plug for this site on Mike and Mike in the morning the other day and have since put in 30 bids for products like the i-pad, i-pod touch and assorted HDTVs. It's a live auction site with countdowns for each prize. Flashing lights, buzzer beaters, $500 gift cards going for .86 cents. It is an actual beautiful, dark, twisted fantasy...or a recipe for a full-blown seizure. I haven't won anything yet, but have gotten down to "going once!" "going twice!" a couple times. It's tough when there are people on this site with names like: CantStopNeverStop, BidFromTheWombToTomb, SeriouslyHaventSleptIn5Years. Check it out. Bid till you did.

4. ThanksGiving Eve. What a night. Back home at a local bar; seeing friends from middle school, high school, preschool, juvenile delinquent prison. This past Eve was made utterly delightful with some delicious whipped cream vodka, Sam Adams and No Speak Americano on the dance floor. If you haven't tried whipped cream vodka, I suggest you don't. Ice cream alcohol. Disgusting.

Side note: I have Twitter set up on my flip phone so I can text and provide updates to my online account. After looking through my calls from Thanksgiving Eve, I actually phoned that 4-digit Twitter number. Don't know why or what the conversation entailed. The duration of the call was 4 minutes.

5. And finally, Thanksgiving Dinner. The FOOD!

We No Speak Americano

Can't get enough of this song right now. Was jamming to it on my i-pod walking to the elevator this morning and almost knocked over a very attractive girl mid-dance move. I quietly muttered "Hello" and took the stairs.

Or the even more popular Jersey Shore Version:

There is a Rose in Spanish Harlem

I'm finally off the couch! Have my own bed and apartment in Spanish Harlem (101st and 3rd Avenue) as of November 5 with Bryan Lynch.

It was kind of strange sleeping on a bed for the first time in 3 weeks.

A few good things are that there is no more bottomless pit of nothingness, a living room and bedroom are now two separate entities and I'm free to juggle q-tips on my nose or blow bubbles out of my ears on either side of my sleeping pad.

Surprisingly, there were also some bad things about making the switch from couch to mattress. After sleeping on a couch for 3 weeks, my body was not used to the ample surface area and softness a bed provides. As a result, I was incredibly sore my first week sleeping on the mattress. The comfort was simply too much for my body to bear.

Also, I didn't have a TV to fall asleep in front of any longer. In fact, we didn't have cable at all in our apartment until about a week ago. For the first couple weeks, we would sit indian-style around the radio listening to football games, Rick Ds and the Weekly Top 40 or Mike'd Up. We were even able to find lost episodes of Lone Ranger late at night. People came over for a party and we played drinking games to a War of the Worlds recording.

My roommate Bryan discovered a newfound love for the archaic entertainment device. He was constantly listening, reciting lines from Boomer and Carton and singing the latest top 40 hit in the shower. One night I came home and found Lynch at the ultimate breaking point:

Now, we finally have cable and haven't said a word to each other in about a week. With classic films like Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood and Superhero Movie, why waste our breaths?

We've also been on a search for the "Rose in Spanish Harlem" that Ben E. King sang about so many years ago. I don't think there are actually roses anywhere in Spanish Harlem. In fact, I don't think I've seen a blade of grass since moving into the building. The only green comes from the liquor store sign down the street.

Perhaps, it was a metaphorical rose. What about the "Church of Holy Agony" across the way? (Seriously, that's what it's called). Instead of serving as a refuge, the priest screams and makes fun of his audience, causing even more pain and suffering. Everyone comes running out in tears. Is this the said "Rose" in Spanish Harlem?

Maybe it's the concrete playground further down on 3rd Avenue? The place where players wanna play and ballers wanna ball? The court where teenagers skip school to play ball, slang yayo or holla' at a skeeza-beeza.

Honestly, I believe the rose to be The Emmerson Home. Our building on 101st and 3rd Ave. It includes a rooftop, ample lounging areas and a free gym (still haven't seen the inside). I like to think that this is what Ben E. King was talking about. If you want to see the place for yourself or even live here for a couple months, we do have an extra room at an incredible $900/month! And if you see the 2nd half of this post as an advertisement for a 3rd roommate, you would be correct.

Please contact mmonagan@gmail.com for more information. Or comment on my blog. Remember to also become a follower.

This song plays on a continuous loop in our lobby.

Manhattan

Nothing like it.

And I thought Korean was hard....

I step off the 6 train clutching AM New York in my right hand. The combination of the dank, subway air and my tie being tighter than a toddler and a treasured toy makes it difficult to breathe. I wait for my moment in the turnstile and arise out of the depths of the city into the crisp, October day.

Everything is going well. Everything is routine so far.

I walk across Park Avenue, dodging a bike messenger and squinting towards my office on 51st Street. All is normal. All is calm.

Now comes something different. Something strange. It's one of the more nerve-racking, stressful times of my day (Besides sending a fax or trying to scan a magazine cover).

I need to get a cup of coffee. Starbucks is located right next to my building and the most convenient cafe when I'm rushing into work. It is also probably the best. But that's where any positives end.

I hang a right before my office and head towards Starbucks. There's a long line that wraps around the entire inside of the small shop. My palms begin to gather sweat. My heart rate quickens. Lips chap. Mouth dries. I'm terrified. I take a deep breath and pull open the door. It doesn't budge. Then I notice the PUSH in bold, green letters on the front glass. Ahh yes. Right. Something I've seen everyday for the last 2 weeks, but still haven't processed. Must be the nerves.

I push the door forward and walk into the cafe. But it's more like walking into some alien world. A female employee with a green apron seems to be speaking in tongues.

"pike pilly, tazo chai zen, frappachino monichato, bilboozi-bananafatto!" she screams.

Even the customers in front of me are speaking in a similar lingo. The woman points to them and they respond with "pike zowie" "diddly doodie" "ponowi bonowi." I think I even hear someone order a "boombastik shaggy fantastic."

It's like everyone is possessed or brainwashed by this green demon behind the counter. And she's getting closer and closer to me. I don't know if I should just turn and make a run for it or be a hero and destroy this creature.

Finally she gets to me and points her narrow, twisted finger at my confused face. I pause and everyone spins around to look at me. Even after two weeks, I don't understand this foreign culture and language. I quietly say "medium coffee?" Because really, that's all I want. It's a coffee shop, isn't it? Shouldn't a medium coffee suffice as a reponse?

The woman's face twitches into a grin and she begins laughing. A high-pitched, evil laugh. Similar to that of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Then everyone starts laughing and pointing at me. "A medium coffee? He said he wanted a medium coffee? Hahahahahaaaaa"

The woman then says something quickly in her language to a co-worker. I think my order went through, but I really can't tell.

I shuffle off to the side of the counter where the coffee is being brewed. The man at the helm is yelling in the same, odd language. I feel bad believing him to be a victim of turrets-syndrome. He also seems to be in the midst some mad, science experiment. Smoke is shooting out of the contraption in front of him. Whistles are sounding. Pots are clanging. Babies are screaming. Looks something like this.

At this point my vision is blurry and I'm becoming dizzy. I'm starting to hallucinate. Coffees are being dropped on the counter and picked up by the queue of zombies. I want to get out of this madhouse, but don't know what my drink is called. Was it a pike grande? A picky chao? Largey in chargey? I can't take it anymore.

I race to the front counter and reach for a coffee.

"Pike grande?" the woman snaps.

I nod. Ashamed to speak my native language in this wild world.

I throw her some bills and escape without even collecting my change. I don't even know if this is my coffee. What is coffee? I needed to leave and get back to real life.

Hopefully, someday, I will understand this strange culture and not feel like an outcast. But for now, Starbucks remains a wild, wild world.

Couch Surfing

Have you ever slept on a couch for a week straight? How about 3 weeks?

Although I do have a job in New York City, I do not yet have an apartment. So, I am sleeping on a friend's couch on the Upper East Side and probably will be there until early November. (He doesn't know that yet. Hope he doesn't read my blog. Actually, who cares. He better be reading my blog. I'm living with the guy.) For anyone that's ever slept on a couch for a period of time, they know there are two sides to the sofa.

One side is open to the rest of the room. Open to the world...

You're propped up on the pillow, TV remote in your hand, happily clicking away between Sportscenter and HBO's favorite movie to play right now; "Home Alone." Nothing says Christmas movie season quite like October.

You have a plate of chocolate chip cookies resting comfortably on your stomach. In my case, the cookie plate is sliding down towards my waistline. Instead of popping out, my stomach actually indents inward, forming a hole. Some good-ole' fashioned Monagan Malnutrition. Looks and feels similar to this.

You're chit-chatting with your roommate about what to eat tonight, sneaking glances out of the 27th floor window into a brilliant NYC skyline. Hell, maybe you're even balancing a q-tip on your nose or blowing bubbles out of your ears. You're free to do anything on this side of the couch. It opens out into the rest of the room. The possibilities are limitless.

The other side of the couch is a black hole. Where quarters and dreams go to die...

You're having a great baseball conversation with your roommate and Home Alone is just getting to the part where Kevin utters "This is MY house. I have to defend it!" Safe to say, you are pumped up. You're enjoying life on this side of the couch.

Then your phone rings. And it's not in your pocket.

It's ringing with a muffled, suffocating sound. Kind of how a baby would cry if a pillow were pressed on its face.

You know where the phone is and you don't want to reach for it. But you have to. It could be your girlfriend. It could be your boss. It could be Zesty's pizza delivery.

So you turn from the picturesque, New York City night lights and smiling Kevin McCallister and come face to face with leather. Dark, lifeless leather. It's like you just fell down some deep cave in the middle of nowhere. You can't hear. You can't see. No one can hear you. You can barely breathe.

You stuff your unsteady hand deep into the crevices of the couch. You clench your teeth, not knowing what may be hiding under these cushions. Body parts, dead gerbils, old baloney sandwiches. Something could bite you. Someone might grab you and pull you inside. Into the unknown.

I think someone was murdered on this guy's sofa. Even he doesn't know what some of the stuff is:

You end up just leaving your phone inside the monster and waiting until daylight. It's safer then. You pull your face away from the face-sucking suction and are back facing the television. Back facing the world. "Home Alone" is right where it left off and your roommate is still talking about the Yankees. Figures. Time had stopped while you were gone.

So those are the two sides of the couch. Heaven and Hell. I have another couple weeks on the couch in NYC and I hope to stay in the correct position. Don't want to fall into the endless abyss. This video sums up that experience pretty well. The guy in white has entered the wrong side:

From Bimbipap to Wok&Roll

I'm STILL ALIVE!!! From my last post on the best blog by an American living in Chuncheon, South Korea for 12.5 months while eating a steady diet of rice and tuna fish, one might think Kim-Jong Il and his army attacked the South and ended my ability to blog. My blogability. But Kim did not invade. I simply stopped blogging. All blogged out.

Reasons I stopped blogging? There are many.

1. I was involved in a heated blog war with a fellow "English" teacher (http://yorkshiretokorea.blogspot.com/2010/09/stealing-your-soul-everyday.html. Best blog by an Englishman living in Chuncheon, South Korea for 12 months while ruining innocent lives with Chinese rubbing alcohol)

Anyways, I choked. Couldn't keep up with the weekly blogs this maniac was putting out. He was constantly blogging. Blogs were going up even when he wasn't blogging. It was madness. For his last 2 months in Korea, he didn't speak to anyone. You had to read his blog and comment back and forth in order to have a conversation with him. More focused than Jordan in his prime. More focused than Eisenhower on the dime. More focused and ferocious than this little guy:

Well, I couldn't keep up with that manic pace. I was busy absorbing the culture. Drinking Soju in talking bars, eating triangle kimbaps, watching Iron Man 2 at the local theater.

2. I was also searching for jobs. Furiously searching for jobs. Presently, I think I belong to about 8 job websites. Hotjobs.com, CareerBuilder.com, GoogleJobs.com, JobbyJobJobs.com, JobHere!GetyourJobHere!.com...I was trying anything. Spitting resumes and cover letters out like Dylan be spittin' hot fire. I received a few responses from the hundreds of apps I sent out and almost had to do a Skype interview from my apartment in the Chunch'. For these interviews, I thought about putting a poster of the periodic table behind me, throwing on some reading glasses, smoking a pipe and looking up from a Dostoyevsky book when the call came in. Maybe answering in Korean. Unfortunately, none of these interviews came to fruition, but I have found a job since returning home. I will be working at a Public Relations agency in New York City starting next week. I have to wear a suit everyday. I may even have to comb my hair. My life is over.

3. Finally, laziness. A disease that affects us all at different points in our lives. Some of us can avoid the plague all together. Just look at Thomas Edison, a Korean middle-schooler or my mother. Some suffer with the sickness their entire lives like Artie Lang and Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. I like to think of my laziness as a minor slip-up. A David Hasselhoff type slip-up. Only without the entire world watching:

I fell victim to laziness my last 3 months in Korea and am comfortable enough to admit it.

These are the reasons why I did not finish my blog in Korea, but I feel as though I have overcome them and hope to continue blogging from this point onward. That or end up like Hasselhoff vs. the cheeseburger.

Stay Kool Korea?

So there's this short guy in your high school who won't leave you alone. He sits right behind you in the classroom, poking you with a pencil and dousing your ears with wet willies. In the cafeteria line, he rests his neck on your left shoulder (seems to like the left), whispering insults in your ear, begging you to slap him in the face. Sometimes on the bus, you feel warm, spit balls hit your face. Every time you turn around, you catch the 4-eyed midget with a straw in his mouth claiming "I didn't do nothin'!'"

He even breaks bathroom etiquette and pees in the urinal next to you. Too close for comfort. He doesn't even stare at the wall. Just glares at you, daring you to go first.

He's a punk. A rotten kumquat. He pesters you nonstop.

But you don't do anything. Not something "drastic" anyway. If you wanted to stand up to him, you could, and you would probably be about 2 feet taller than the boy. His nose at your belt buckle. You would destroy him in under 10 seconds. He doesn't have many friends/cliques. Nobody likes him. So why don't you go ahead and take on the "challenge?"

It could be that you're scared of his big brother (who seems to be getting bigger everyday). His shadow looms large in the community and at school. Like Yao Ming at Tianjin Nankai High School, he is the big man on campus. He's always close by and supports his next of Kim (sorry kin), no matter how poorly he acts.

Also, there's that gun collection that the kid always brags about. It was once his fathers and now he claims it as his own. He's always threatening people with it. Your school counselor, Mr. Uri Ntrubl, has penalized him a number of times. Hasn't stopped the stubborn ankle biter. It's the one significant piece of equipment the kid has, if he has it at all.

There's also your well-being to think about. You're doing so well in school, sports and making bank at the new writing internship you Won in a state-wide essay contest. You've come a long way since the early years and that renown playground fight. The one where you repeatedly kicked that boy where the Sung don't shine and he ran away, pleading for you to stop. Come to think about it, that kid seems like a pretty similar character to the foe you face today.

But now, you're making new friends. You're really moving up in the world. Your Seoul is in the right place. You don't want to ruin all these positives with some stupid scuffle that could ruin your reputation.

So you sit back and take it, even though you're sick and tired of the little brat. You know one false move could set off a firestorm. Maybe your friends will help you figure out the right decision. Maybe not. You wait...Who will make the next move?

The Korean conflict has made big news during the past couple weeks. For me, the tension has never been higher. I say "for me," because I really don't see any panic amongst Koreans. Nothing has changed. Granted I don't speak or understand much Korean, but my students, school secretaries and neighborhood all seem as cool as Kobe in the 4th quarter. Meanwhile, many foreigners, including myself, are as collected as the Mets in September.

In the morning, I read the news from the NYtimes, CNN, BBC and the two Koreas seem on the brink of war. I then walk outside and see politicians dancing on the streets with frightening mascots, the old lady on the sidewalk still begging me to buy her bananas in front of school, and at night, the old men in suits are still stumbling around, red-faced, trying to figure out where or what a home is. Business as usual in Chuncheon.

How do countries act in these situations? Shouldn't we be scared of an attack? How serious is it? We are 45 minutes from the border. Who knows? Maybe this is what you're supposed to do. Go about daily business. I have no idea. Canada has never threatened the US with any real danger, except maybe Avril Lavigne.

One time...in Okinawa

An amazing trip with a tremendous friend.

I met my roommate of 4 years at Ford-ham University on Okinawa Island. Four years of being in the same room/apartment together throughout college.

Why the same roommate year after year after year? Were we snogging? Never. Well, maybe one time. I think it was after one of those 13 hour Howl spring weekend drink-ups. Nico had a rastafari wig on from The Roots concert. I thought he was Jill Scott.

Was it that we were socially inept and unable to make any new friends after our first year? That had to be part of the problem. All 8 of the guys in our senior year house were also in the same hallway freshman year. We developed sets of inside jokes that revolved around horrible nicknames for classmates (cheesehead, snaggletooth) and the Arnold Schwarzeneggar soundboard. The latter we used to prank call local Bronx restaurants or random people in our phonebooks: "Let me talk to your mother! Get your mother please!" Sometimes we'd even talk in an Arnold tone at a bar/party. "Hi. How are you. I'm Detective John Kimble...(puzzled look from stranger)...I'M A COP YOU IDIOT!"

This was hilarious to us, but extremely isolating for others. It was perfect.

Honestly, I'd like to think that Nico and I were just best of friends. We had many things in common and clicked right off the bat. Love of sport, similar outlooks on life and a fan of good music, no matter the genre.

So it was great to see my man Nico again in Okinawa (even if his hair is now longer than Justin Biebers). Okinawa is a beautiful place. It's a small island south of mainland Japan. I was there for about 4 nights, but nights 2 and 3 were probably the best. Both of these nights we stayed in Nago Bay, a coastal town about an hour north of the airport. We stayed in a shack on the beach, drank some Awamori (local Okinawan liquor, on par with gasoline) and hung out with some local DJs. A vacation that would make my mom proud.

The shack.

I don't know if I can even call it a shack. I may be giving the hostel too much credit. Yes. A shack would have been a step-up.

Driving around the place, you would've thought you were Wall-E when he wheels around a deserted Earth. The hovels looked as if they were made out of recycled car parts. At one point I leaned against a wall and a cadillac horn sounded. Red, orange, brown, black in color. My bed sheet doubled as a cover for my bed and towel after a shower. But none of this really bothered me.

When we walked out our door, there was beach under our feet. Can't miss views surrounded the area. Woke up to the sunrise and ate amazing food, cooked by local families. A spot off the map that I'm glad we stumbled upon.

The liquor.

Awamori. AwwMeSorry! As one of Nico's Japanese friends put it on the mainland: "Arwamori. Verwy Dangerwous!"

Indeed it was. More dangerous than Soju. More dangerous than Akon and Kardinal Offishall

But we felt like we had to drink it. I don't think the locals would've hung out with us if we rejected the cleaning detergent.

One night we went out with 2 local Okinawan girls. Neither spoke English very well. They knew "pizza" "bye-bye" and "Mariah Carey." One of the two had driven us to the bar in her car. We drank some beers and a bottle of Awamori. When we left the bar, we was buzzin' lil' bit. We got back in the car chatting in Schwarzeneggar soundboard voices, giggling back and forth, isolating the two girls who already spoke very little English. Yeah! Just like old times! High-Five!

But then the driver jumped in back with us. We were a little surprised. We were even more shocked when an old man opened the driver door and sat behind the wheel. He turned around and smiled at us, showing 5 teeth and a beard full of fruit flies. The mix of Awamori and immense language barrier had us completely in the dark. We had no idea what was going on.

Eventually we realized that the man was part of an Awamori driving service for people who may have had too much Awamori. And by eventually, I mean 3 days later, when the Awamori hangover ended. Awamori. Awamori.

Awamori.

The Local Boys.

We hadn't really planned on hanging out with the locals in the hostel. We were heading out to find something to eat and a guy invited us in to their makeshift bar.

We walked in and the four men introduced themselves and their jobs. "DJ." "DJ." "DJ." "DJ." Japanese DJs who only played Reggae music and talked like the Jamaican bobsled team from "Cool Runnings." An extremely entertaining crew.

They were also overjoyed to have the day off as a part of the Japanese Golden Week (one week out of the year that every Japanese worker gets off), but really, how often do DJs work? How many Bar Mitzvahs are there in Okinawa?

As we were talking about Bob Marley and Jah Love, a shadow swept across bar. All four guys stood up as this light brown-haired, over-tanned man walked across the room. The guy who spoke the best English whispered in our ears that this fellow was a legendary Okinawan singer. He used to have a band and can now get any girl he wants and get into any club he desires.

I looked at the gruff-looking "star" for a couple minutes. He was sitting by himself at a picnic table, slugging down a bottle of Awamori and sucking the life out of a cigarette. If he was really a star, why was he here with these guys? Where were all the girls? Was he wearing a wig?

He reminded me a little of Bill Nighy's character in "Love Actually."

The night was filled with great food, Peter Tosh and of course, the dreaded Awamori. It was an awesome time and overall, a trip I will always remember. Some day, I'd like to go back to those shelters on the beach. Maybe for my honeymoon? Any takers?

Here's a little video from our night in "Reggae Heaven."

Going CRAZY for Crazy

What do you do when you hear the word crazy? Do you laugh like an epileptic hyena? Like a white male at a Dave Chapelle Show after 5 weed brownies? Like a white male staring at a white wall after 5 weed brownies? Do you fall out of your chair, crying tears of joy, screaming "HE SAID IT!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE HE SAID IT!!!"

If you do, no need to worry. You're not abnormal. You're Korean.

Most comedians have a word or phrase that makes their performance for the night.

Chapelle's "Purple Drink" sketch is one of my favorites.

Now imagine that Dave didn't have to go into any detailed descriptions for his purple drink joke. Forget Sunny Delight, forget grape juice, forget forming full sentences. What if all he had to do was repeat the two words over and over on stage? Maybe changing his tone of voice every so often, but still retaining the same laughter from the crowd?

This is what crazy does in Korea. Pure. Comedy. Gold.

Sometimes, I have rough days in class. No 10-11 year old wants to learn about Edvard Munch's The Scream, or the mating habits of a North American elephant seal. (Although, there are some amazing elephant seal fighting videos. Fox should televise a Rosie O'Donnell vs. Elephant Seal steel cage match.)

Anyway, there are a few days when energy is low. The kids are in their 4th or 5th academy of the day and busy thinking about their next move in Starcraft or salivating at the idea of a warm kimbap 2-gue.

As a result, I feel horrible. I don't want them to be bored and frustrated.

What can I do?

1. I could make the topic more interesting.

"Yes, class. Munch's Scream painting was the model face for the 90's movie Scream." I would then show a clip from Scream, end up showing clips from Scary Movie 1 and then, in a Scary Movie induced daze, show them one of my favorite films; Scary Movie 3 in its entirety. Lesson fail.

2. I could point to a boy in the class and say "How's your girrlllfrrriennddd???"

This would spark all kinds of conversations. The girls would ask me how many girlfriends I had. I would say "8 or 9. Lost count a long time ago." I would then go to a map and point to every country I had a gf. When I moved my hand towards Africa, the class would groan with disgust and call me Tiger Woods. The topic would then turn to sexism/racism during an Edvard Munch lesson. Interesting. But again, lesson fail.

So sometimes I have to do it. I have to pull out the crazy card.

"CRAZY TEACHER!" I'll say, while making psychotic motions with my hands and face.

"CRAZY STUDENTS! CRAZY PENCIL SHARPENER! CRAZY COMPUTER!" while smacking the top of the monitor with both hands.

Choruses of laughter will erupt from the classroom. Some students will topple on the floor, smacking each other on the back. Others will beg for me to say it again.

"Kim Jong Il! SO CRAZY! CHUNGDAHM! CRAZY ACADEMY!"

I swear, it's like a tank of Nitrous Oxide has just been released through the vents. Utter hilarity.

Sometimes I have to go a little extra with the craziness for older kids. Maybe pick up 4 mult-colored markers and scrawl it in huge letters all over the white board and walls. Write crazy all over my face and run screaming up and down the aisles.

After the noise dies down, I will again have their full attention and we can continue with the lesson.

But why so CRAZY for crazy?

Webster's number 1 definition for crazy reads: "demented, insane."

Is there anything funny about either of these definitions?

Demented? Don't we call what pedophiles do demented? Wasn't Charles Manson demented? Do people reread Helter Skelter when they need a good, long laugh? "Haha! Here it is. Yeah, he stabbed the pregnant woman 27 times and then wrote a message in her blood on the wall! Her blood!"

Insane? Insanity isn't really something to laugh at. People who are insane are actually sick and disturbed. It can be very sad. See Lady Gaga, John Rocker, Mike Tyson or....Jim Mora.

So what's so funny about this 5 letter word?

Maybe it's the zonky "zy" ending. Maybe there's some nationwide inside joke that foreigners don't know about.

Whatever it is, it's gotta be something really...really...CRAZY!

The Ewah-ild Side

Throughout my time in Korea, I've taught some interesting subjects in the classroom. The first term I discussed both the physical and psychological transformations experienced by Henry Jekyll in "Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde."

I guess it really wasn't a discussion. The only parts that were of interest to my students were when Hyde curb stomped an old man and trampled a little girl.

In another class during the first term (history of rock and roll was the subject), I tried hard to make a connection with my class. For most, Rock and Roll might as well have been a pebble and buttered appetizer you receive before a meal. Korean Pop was all they cared about. G-Dragon was their "man?"

Alas, I showed them a clip of Fats Domino playing the piano and desperately declared "He is the G-Dragon of the 1950s. K-Pop would be nothing without Fats Domino."

Students: "Babo Teacher. (Clown Teacher) Very uugly. Like you."

Excellent.

During the 2nd term, I taught an upper-level class and delved into topics such as inflation and the history of money. Two topics I knew nothing about, and still don't.

I recall one class (topic was Biological Classification Systems, everyones favorite!), I could not spell "Linnaean", for The Linnaean System, on the board.

I misspelled it the first time I put it up and tried to nonchalantly fix it while answering a student's question. Again, I misspelled it. How many (e)s were there in this stupid word? Is it eaen? aean? How can these letter combinations be possible? I never knew Linnaean, but I hated him.

"Ok class, we're going to call it the L. System. This will facilitate quick note-taking."

Nice save.

Although there were some mishaps and cultural divides while teaching these higher-level classes, most of them went smoothly. The students spoke English well and asked pertinent questions.

But this term, I have entered the Ewah-ild side.

A place where the bathroom is anywhere you want it to be, where homework stamps turn children into yellow-top crack fiends from "The Wire" and where English is as dead as Samuel L. Jackson in "Deep Blue Sea."

The school of 5-10 year olds known as Ewah. I may be over-exaggerating a tad. Most of the classes aren't too bad.

Many of the kids CAN speak in clear phrases, disregarding the use of pronouns, articles and other important parts of speech.

As a result, I now have trouble remembering to use articles and basic grammar in normal conversations with friends.

"Weekend? What we do?"

But there are two classes (one class of ten 8-9 year old boys, one of five 5-7 year old boys) that I dread "teaching." Although, I know not to get too upset with the kids. They're full of energy and life. Who can blame them at that age?

However, there are times when I'm sitting at my desk and can hear these boys sprinting toward my classroom, their screams echoing through the CDI hallways. At these moments, I can only think of Gandalf''s speech from the "Fellowship of the Ring."

"They have taken the bridge...and taken the second gates. We've barred the door, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, Drums. Cannot get out. Shadows move in the dark. We cannot get out...They're coming."

Spy Games and A Paddy's Day Pow-Wow!

I got inside. Cameras were everywhere. I counted one, two, three along the low ceiling.

I carefully made my way around the room, understanding my objective, but always keeping an eye towards the front for the slightest bit of movement.

Where was it? I didn't have much time. One never does in these situations.

Get it and get out. That was my plan at the outset. Something so hard to do in a place that can be so strange and confusing. Everything was in different places. Very unfamiliar. Very small.

I had been caught before. Actually, I'd never not been caught. When it comes to getting got, I'm more unlucky than a baby born under a ladder on the wrong side of the DMZ. That goes for most things in life.

Getting caught in this situation was really not a terrible thing, just very awkward and incredibly annoying.

All of a sudden, my phone went off. I tried to reach into my pocket and mute it, but the Korean jeans I had on were too tight around the waist. I could barely get a finger in there, let alone my entire hand. In a panic, I checked my body up against the wall to stop the blaring ringtone. But I was too late. My cover was blown.

The female employee poked her head out from behind a pile of shoe boxes and rushed over to me. She began speaking in Korean (oddly enough) and guiding me along the stacks of jeans, socks and soccer jerseys.

I turned away, embarrassed I couldn't respond in her language and confident I could find a green shirt for St. Paddy's Day on my own. But I couldn't shake her. I would walk five feet, turn around and see her eyeing me from the end of the aisle. If I took an item off the shelf to check the price, she would rush over to me and say something. I would mutter "camsamnidad" (thank you) and sometimes throw in a "kimbap toogue" (two kimbap rolls), hoping to show her I have no concept of the Korean language.

But she would not give up. She was determined that she could break this unbreakable language barrier. Even when I thought I lost her, she would pop up behind a counter of boxer shorts or pose as a mannequin and unfreeze back into the smiling employee.

Eventually, I became so frustrated that I left. Even after walking about a block down from the Adidas Department store, I was still turning nervously, expecting to see the store clerk stalker.

I know she was just trying to be kind and helpful, but I've found that especially in Korea, it can really become almost comical with the way that store employees watch/follow foreigners. They probably see us as needing the most help, which is sometimes the truth. But trailing me through the store and talking to me in a language I don't know makes me both uncomfortable and paranoid. It has become my mission to attract as little attention as possible to myself when entering these arenas. I guess it's either that or learn more Korean. I'll go with that.

These situations happen when I'm buying something or even when I'm simply browsing through a store. Being hounded by store employees while simply browsing is something that anybody can relate to. Especially LD. Go to 4:09 of the clip:

Paddy Party:

In the end, I did not find a suitable green shirt for the Paddy's Day party. My friend suggested buying a head of broccoli and carrying it around for the entire night. I thought about it, but decided it wasn't the best idea. Instead, I bought some Guinness, chips and threw on my green Gangwon FC hat. The party was excellent. Near the beginning of the night we were playing a tame game of trivial pursuit, but by the end we had switched gears and a full-blown game of spin the bottle/truth or dare was being conducted in the small apartment. A dangerous game I never thought I'd play after the age of 12, but one I'm happy to have been a part of.

Beginning of the night:

Trivial Pursuit:

Last Picture taken before Spin the Bottle/Truth or Dare:

Claire Apparent

She came, she saw, she turned my life upside down. Or maybe right side up?

Claire visited Chuncheon this past week.

Honestly, I probably did more activities around the Chunch' than I had in the past 6 months. And if we're just talking about doing activities, I was probably more active than I've been in about 2 years.

I was frightened at first. As I was waking up at 10 am the first couple mornings or hiking up the side of a mountain, I wasn't sure whether my body could handle this sudden change in schedule. Could my heart work at this normal person pace? Would my brain explode? There really is time for 3 meals in one day? The sun rises before it sets?

But once I got used to these realizations, I found myself feeling healthier and happier. It also helped that it was 60 degrees for most of the week and Claire poured me a bowl of cereal every morning with milk and a touch of love.

Claire was awesome to have around. She has such great energy and need to keep busy. Two things I've always feared, but am working on. She's also become very aware of her surroundings. She made it from the supermarket in my city back to my apartment her first day here. Sense of direction is something she's drastically improved upon. If I remember correctly, she used to have trouble finding the entrance to I-84 in Waterbury. She would whip out a map in order to get from Fulton park to 7-11.

We hiked, drank some Soju, Twisted and Shouted at Karaoke and wowed a Korean Tennis Club with our athleticism. Still got that ferocious Prince Fielder-esque backhanded swing and eephus of a second serve.

Claire is all over the court. Backbone of the team.

We defeated two Koreans in a tiebreaker, impressing the club "pro." I say "pro" because he looked and acted like anything but. He wore a trench coat with moccasins and smoked about 4 cigarettes while we were playing. I kept looking over while he was blowing smoke up into the air, laughing with a group of young, korean women. One time he caught my eye and stared at me for a couple seconds. He motioned to his cigarettes. I half-expected him to break out into an Alex Baldwin type monologue from The Departed. Go to :54 seconds:

The first couple games we looked like Michael Chang and Anna Kournikova. But the last couple we were like Federer and Venus. Grunting aside.

Also, on the way back to my neighborhood, the taxi cab driver challenged me to a match. Might give him a call next weekend to pick me up. Wonder if he'll use the company car. Wonder if he'll turn off the meter.

Anyways, it was great to see Claire and I thank her for coming out to visit. I may never get up at 10 am again these next 6 months, but at least I now know that it exists.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

This past weekend was the Lunar New Year in South Korea and many other Asian nations.

Not positive if North Korea celebrates the New Year. Not sure if they have calendars or are allowed to celebrate much of anything up north. Maybe Kim Jong Il's birthday, laundry day and new mistress day.

Since I've been over here and closer to Kim-bap, I've realized that he really isn't as bad as others put him out to be. Maybe just a little lonely. A natural feeling we all experience at some point or another.

Anyways, let's get back to the theme of this post. The beginning of a new year in South Korea. One of the most important days on their calendar. Elaborate gifts are given, traditional garb is donned and ancestral hometowns are visited. On New Years' Day in America, bottles and bottle of water are consumed, Advil and Aspirin tablets are shared amongst loved ones and clothing from the night before is worn for almost half the day.

Let's look at a breakdown of the respective New years' eves in the two nations

New Years' Eve:

2:00 pm

S.K.- Me, my brother, sister, Mom and Dad arrive at my grandparents

house in a small rural town outside of Seoul. We have our traditional Korean clothing in hand and clutch gifts/cards/food for loved ones. My family and I have been preparing all day for tonight and the following day.

U.S.- Jussstt about waking up. Fortunately, New Years Eve fell on a Saturday this year, so a friend had put together a New Years Eve Eve party. Excellent. Not one, but two nights of beer pong, up and down the river and completely destroying someone's home/life. Think I'll take a nap in preparation.

4:00 pm

S.K.- Gifts carefully wrapped in layers and layers of packaging are exchanged. I bought my grandmother a beautiful white and violet vase. I also offered her a plate of chocolate rice cakes my mother, brother and I had made the night before. She smiles and I bow.

Next is my grandfather. The oldest member of our family and therefore, most respected. I sit down close to him and pull out a small metal trinket I had made at University. Red, blue and green colors light up his tired, grey eyes. It is a glasses case.

He seems pleased, but only smiles when I uncover the 3 bottles of Soju I snuck in unbeknownst to my mother. He is happy. I am happy.

U.S.- Get up from my nap.

6:00 pm

S.K.- Aunts, Uncles and cousins arrive at the house. Hugs and kisses are exchanged along with bows to the elder family members. Cousins exchange gifts with grandma and grandpa. Dinner prep begins. Dining table is set. Kim-chi is made. Spicy, red and complimented with rice.

U.S.- Kegs arrive at the party house. Four to be exact. Two already have dents from the treacherous trek up to the 3rd floor apartment. Dining table is turned into a pong platform. The jungle juice is prepared. Malibu Rum, Natural Light and some mouthwash for that extra zip.

8:00 pm

S.K.- Dinner is served with numerous side dishes. Different types of fish, meat, noodles and vegetables are consumed. Families may then walk together after the meal and catch up on each other's lives.

U.S.- I arrive at the party still chewing on the 2 slices of pizza I bought for dinner. I grab a solo cup and scribble my name in on the beer pong list. I utter a few inside jokes amongst friends, turn up the already booming sound system and begin trash talking the pong players.

11:00 pm-12 am

S.K.- Biggest moment of the night. Me, my brothers, sisters and cousins must bow to our grandparents and ask for money. We've practiced these bows before. Hands folded out to our eldest relatives, knees to the ground first, then follow with the head. Then back up again. Many nerves but also very gratifying if done right.

U.S.- Biggest hour of the night. All of us that are not passed out await the stroke of midnight. But what will happen at midnight? Will that girl you've been eyeing all night come over and give you a new years kiss? Will these two guidos from Long Island finally lose a beer pong game? Will that Bob Marley poster still be attached to the wall? Is there robitussun in the jungle juice? Many nerves. Very little gratification.

12:30 am

S.K.- Everything went very well. Received 50,000 won from my grandparents and approving looks from my family. Respect was given and respect was had. Now off to bed. Big day tomorrow with family, traditional Korean clothes and food!

U.S.- Nothing went well. Instead of the girl coming over to me at midnight, 7 of my friends tackled me on to the couch, spilling juice all over the white cushions and ripping down the Marley poster. The host would have been mad, had he not fallen asleep at 9:30 on his kitchen floor. Next two hours are pretty similar to the beginning of the night. Only more singing and shouting.

Probably pass out at 3. Wake up around 10. Maybe get something to eat. Then do it again?

Hopefully not. Resolute 2010.

Soccer

It's a sport I play every Sunday, but a word I utter sparingly. Playing with mostly Koreans and proper gentlemen from the UK, soccer is a useless word. To me, it almost represents a lack of knowledge for the game. A game for which my knowledge is already very small. Sometimes the treacherous word slips from my tongue amidst European company, and a deep feeling of shame washes over me. I quickly look to the ground, hoping no one heard.

Of course, when I am in the company of a fellow Me-gook (American) player, it's soccer, soccer, soccer all day, all night. Even when we're talking about teaching or the weather.

"Yeah, it has been cold. Why aren't th--SOCCER! Why aren't there pl--SOCCER! plows in this SOCCER!! SOCCER!! SOCCERRR!!

Sometimes football is shortened up to footy. Who knows why? Not like you use your feet. Most countries around the world use some variation of football. Except Iceland, which uses Knattspyma. Icelanders also use dung to heat their homes.

So let's call it chukgu (Korean). It's a sport I've played since I was 6 or 7 years old. Honestly, it was mostly a filler sport between summer baseball and winter basketball. I don't know if I really ever enjoyed playing it in the states. Too much running. No timeouts.

Also, I could never score. Upon entering the box, I would usually panic, kick the ball straight into a defender and then throw my hands in front of my face as he booted it back down the field. True mincer.

In my 3 year varsity career, I think I tallied 6 goals? The first year I was a full-time ball boy and only played when the other team was winning by 7 or we were playing the American School for the Deaf. But I celebrated my ball boy status. Two other freshman and I actually coined our group BBOA. Ball Boys of America.

We would make full out dives for stray balls and slide into pricker bushes in search of lost ones. Sure, our efforts went unnoticed, but we knew how many balls we had stopped from killing Timmy's grandmother or upending a nest of newborn baby birds.

Don't really remember much in my 2nd year, but definitely began to play more. I also became the king of penalty kicks. We would have PK tournaments at the end of each practice and I did surprisingly well one day. Using a pair of moccasins from the lost and found (I was known to forget my cleats and athletic clothes every so often and since the 6th grade, was a happy and frequent lost and found customer) I beat every single person on the team. Right corner was my spot. Moccasin Monagan became my name. Just kidding.

But this day carried my PK legacy into senior year and I became the go to penalty kicker. Four of my six goals over my 3 year career were scored in this fashion. I probably would've had more PK's but had a Rick Ankiel-like mental breakdown midway through my final season and couldn't even lift the ball off the ground. Kept seeing little green goblins dancing around the goal line.

Now I'm in Korea and am really enjoying football. I play almost every Sunday. Sometimes Saturdays. I don't know why I suddenly enjoy it. I think because it keeps me in shape and I enjoy hearing the Korean players scream "Nice-Uh!" when somebody does something well.

Play a mix of 11 a side and 5 a side. I think I enjoy the 5 a side more because of the smaller pitch (less running) and ample touches.

Last week, myself, Lewis (Yorkshire ballin' till he be fallin'), Steven (Energizer Tiger) and Zack (Mayor of Chuncheon) walked on to a 5 a side pitch of high-school aged kids and dominated for a span of 4 games. It's like in America, where it's 5 on 5 pick-up basketball. You lose, you're out.

Lewis scored his usual 8 goals and I had 6. We were dominant up front. Like Jordan and Pippen in the late 90s. Steven was the hardworking defender (Luc Longley). Zack was the everywhere man, flying all over the pitch (Dennis Rodman). We also picked up a Korean keeper, who I believe had a 3rd arm.

The crowds of Korean high schoolers oohhh and ahhhhed every time we rocketed a shot towards the goal. They shook the cage that surrounded the field every time there was a hard foul. It was epic. In 2 short hours, we became Chuncheon legends.

When we left, a chorus line of about 20 Korean men gave us a hefty bow. Lower than Obama's bow to the Japanese president. Lower than a baby pygmy bow.

We hope to go back to this field someday.

When we do, a grand entrance will definitely be in order. Maybe something like this. Just to remind them who is boss:

Ice, Ice, Baby

We arrived in Hwacheon, a city about an hour and a half away from North Korea. The air was crisp and a steady snow was falling.

The small town reminded me one that would be used for the setting of a Hollywood movie. It's a Wonderful Life-like. Small stores, friendly people and a cheerful atmosphere. I felt like I could've walked around there all day, letting the snow fall on my face while admiring the decorations celebrating the town's annual ice festival. I felt great. I felt like grabbing a random Korean girl and giving her the Jimmy Stewart monologue.

But then I realized it wasn't nighttime. There was no moon. There was no Mary. There was Sang-Hee-Wee and she probably wouldn't speak much English.

I decided to drop the idea and head for the festivus. Heading into the festival, I wasn't expecting much of anything. I don't know why. I just figured it would be a bunch of foreigners taking turns trying to catch fish around one small hole; trying to keep warm with a couple bottles of Soju and Dimple. The body of water would probably be about the size of the 3rd pond at Fulton Park.

You know the pond. The one that is partially hidden from the road behind a stone wall? Nobody likes to look at it. Many deny its existence. Two-headed trolls and other ghastly creatures have been known to make their homes in and around this disgusting mess of nature. If you're lucky, you might find a couple baseballs that Matt "Party Crashing" Carr launched from a few of the upper diamonds.

But I was pleasantly surprised. The area playing home to the festival was enormous. It equaled the entire length of Fulton Park. Thousands of people littered the grounds. There were three huge expanses of ice dedicated to ice-fishing, one for ice soccer, a couple more for go-karts/ATVs and a final pool for swimming. Also, huge snow/ice sculptures surrounded the boundaries of the ice. Amazing and detailed illustrations of animal faces and people. Ice cold.

Ice-fishing was difficult. The trip organizer gave us what resembled a fly swatter, and attached a string and some bait to the end. My bait was neon-green. I don't think I could've caught a fish with down-syndrome.

It seemed like it also takes quite a long time to catch a fish. A ton of patience. A few Koreans seemed like they had been there a couple days. Lying on the ground, blue in the face, on the brink of hypothermia.

After ice-fishing, we headed over to the final section of the ice festival. Where old men go to die.

When we arrived, a group of young Korean men and women were standing around a pool of ice water. They were dressed in small shorts and t-shirts, shivering in the 15 degree temperatures. I eventually put two and two together. They were going to jump in. And why were we here? Because we were also going to jump in.

The Koreans jumped into the the water and screams of terror erupted from the below 0 water. The idea of this exercise, besides making your heart stop, was for the participants to search for and catch fish with their bare-hands. These men and women actually seemed to catch a lot of fish. It didn't look that difficult.

However, I still was not going in the water. I was too young to die. And dying in a foreign country? Who wants to do that? Talk about a hassle for family and friends.

But, peer pressure has always been one of my worst faults. I got sucked in. I couldn't face the outcry and bashing I would get if I didn't make the jump.

About thirty other foreigners and myself walked bare-foot along the snow and out towards the pool of death. The area itself is shaped like an arena. There is a small pool down below and then crowds of people watching and trash-talking from up above. (I think someone actually threw a soju bottle down at me).

Anyway, when I looked around at the 30 foreigners in bright orange t-shirts and 100 Koreans watching/taking bets on who would fall first, I felt like a clown put there for someone's amusement. They were all laughing at us, entertained by our stupidity. As they should have been.

It kind of felt similar to that scene in A.I. when the robots are tortured to the sheer delight of human spectators.

I jumped into the water.

Honestly, telling you the water was extremely cold does not suffice. It felt like needles were being pulled out and then driven squarely back into my legs. I stood there, frozen with fear, frozen with...well. Frozen.

I didn't even look for fish. Quite honestly, I don't think there were any fish left after the previous group. I quickly gathered my senses and headed towards the ladder to escape the pool of misery. I think I was the second guy out and actually elbowed a couple girls out of the way to get to the escape route first. Put my legs in a hot bath and can finally feel them thawing out today.

I will never, ever put myself in this type of situation again.

Unless someone asks me twice.