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: