Don't call me a woman!

It never ceases to amaze me how much crap is on the web. I ran across this today. The website analyzes blogs and determines whether the author is a male or female. Well, apparently it can't or I write like a girl. In an effort to boost my manliness maybe I should talk more about baseball, beer, and muscle cars.


Maybe this is a positive though. Girls excelled in English during grade school and beyond, kind of like Asians with math.* Overall, my blog is pretty gender neutral (for now) and the website is 55% confident that a woman writes it. It seems pretty fishy now that I think about, considering this post title: John Post #2. John is not Johanna.


*There are two big Asian stereotypes that I need to address right now. The first one is their math skills; it's true. Asians take math seriously from a young age. In Korea, children take supplementary math classes outside of school in addition to a rigorous math program during school. The other misconception is not true. And I'm talking about how every Asian looks the same. Every Asian looks different, so if you hear another Asians look the same joke, just call bull shit.

In a conscience effort to get more manly, I am going to tell a little humorous story involving some of the characters in Seoul. Of course, what is more manly than the word penis. This is a penis story full of crudeness, but it happened. This is my interpretation of a night that happened with my three closest friends in Korea.

John: Last time I was at an arcade I saw Doug's penis.
me: What?
John: Last time I was in an arcade....I saw Doug's penis.
me: I'm sorry, I keep thinking you're saying you saw Doug's penis in an arcade. You know, the place where little children play video games, Chuck E. Cheese ring any bells. Is Doug a pederast...
John: Wait, Zach never told you this story...

against better judgement I tried to find out more... who am I trying to kid, I HAD to find out more, I fired out this response the instant John stopped talking.

me: Please tell.
John: Okay, I can't believe Zach never told you this. After a particularly heavy night of drinking, Zach, Doug, and I wandered off to an arcade. It's like 3 in the morning, but it's Korea so the place is still open. Have you been to an arcade in Korea?
me: And because it's Korea I have absolutely no problem with you in an arcade at 3 am. But to answer your question I haven't been to an arcade here.
John: They are like back home, but they are usually bigger and they have photo booths. The booths have wigs and other costume like accessories. And the three of us went straight to the photo booths, mainly because I like to take photos with men wearing multi-colored wigs at 3 in the morning while being hammered.
me: But of course, who doesn't!
John: I KNOW, some people are afraid of clowns and others, myself included, have clown fetishes. Anyway, Doug had a hard on for this bright orange Afro wig, and he tried to steal it. The bottom line is: it's three in the morning, the place is empty, two of us are white, and we're all tanked, so we were getting a lot of attention from the one poor bastard still working the place. And Doug's stealing a wig. The teenager working this dead end job had his eye on Doug the entire time and started to walk on over towards us...
me: Did you warn Doug????
John: Yeah, we did. We said, "Doug the guys coming." He then threw the bright orange wig behind the photo booth. Maybe you should sit down for the rest of this, because it gets better.
me: The penis part, yeah I can only imagine.
John: The guy is right by us now looking at Doug. He never SAYS ANYTHING. He DOESN'T ACCUSE Doug of anything. Doug initiates EVERYTHING. Doug sees this guy looking at him and says, "What, I didn't take the wig. You want me to take off my shirt. I'll take off my shirt." Doug then proceeds to take off his shirt saying, "See man I don't have your wig." At this point, Doug was assuming that he had to convince this guy a little more, even though the worker never accused him of anything. The next bit is priceless. Doug says, "What you thinks it's in my pants? You want me to take off my pants? I don't have your wig bro-man. I'll take off my pants." Did I mention we were wasted?
me: So Doug has his shirt off and this guy is probably thinking. "Well, I can't understand a word you're saying, because I don't speak English, and holy shit you just took your shirt off. Things are escalating quickly. I mean, really just getting out of hand."
John: YES! Exactly! The guy probaly didn't speak English and never accused Doug of anything. I mean, he had no idea what was about to happen. Doug drops his drawers to his ankles, and he's standing there, cock blowing in the breeze with boxers around his ankles saying, "See, I don't have your wig bro." He then does a complete 360 naked, just so the guy can really check out any crevasse in his naked Hawaiian body. For a good thirty seconds, Doug is butt-ass naked pirouetting like a Russian ballerina. Just absolutely hilarious.
me: In an arcade...at 3 in the morning...Doug's naked. I should be surprised, but I'm not...just another day on this side of the world.

My First Second Job

I got my first second job. Does that make sense? I now teach separate classes every Sunday from 1:30 to 3:50 for a side job. My school set this up for me and here's the best part: I get paid about 50 dollars per hour! Holy Shnikes! People all around the world are reeling right now, and somehow I'm getting paid 50 dollars an hour to teach kids English asking myself, "What global economic slowdown?" Meg got the gig as well. This is her 4th job.



It's even more interesting considering the following: I don't have an English or teaching degree, in fact, and I hate to say this because of my current job, but English is and has always been one of my worst subjects. I am sure that anyone who has read over two blog posts can attest to my poor grammar skills. Indeed, I just learned that there is a difference between your and you're a year ago! I have been corrected so many times in my life, but the corrections go in one ear and out the other. I'm a baboo. (that's Korean for idiot)



I was adding up the costs of activities and thought I would post them here:



Big Mac Meal- $3.5

Movie ticket - $5.4

Korean Bar B Que meal*- $3-6.50

Pint of the Korean liqueur Soju- 97 cents

Meal for 1 at Outback Steakhouse- 25 dollars

Glazed Doughnut at Dunkin Donuts*- 70 cents

Clothes are much cheaper but it varies so much; I'm going to just avoid that can of worms

1 liter bottle of Orange Juice- $2.70



Okay and here is the best deal in Korea to date: $11.55 for all you can eat sushi rolls and other buffet items. These are real sushi rolls, with fancy sauces, crab, and did I say crab!!!! What are you going to chase your awesome crab almond roll down with, how about all you can drink wine, which is included in the original sticker price! For those of you keeping score, 11.50 for a buffet and all you can drink wine. Now, granted the wine isn't top shelf, but in this case quantity over quality right?


I remember reading an article somewhere, (yes I do read...once in a while) and it listed Seoul as the the 5th most expensive city in the world. The won was a much stronger currency at that point, to give the article some credit, but looking at the prices that I posted above, I just don't see it. I know real estate is very expensive here, but look at how much a Big Mac meal is! I mean, the 5th most expensive city in the world! Get out of here!

I can travel from one side of Seoul to the other for about 20 dollars. That would get you from one side of JFK to other in New York or maybe a couple of laps around ground zero. The cabbies have got a 10 percent increase coming to them sometime in 2009, which is really going to hurt my wallet. It might take 22 dollars to get to the other side of Seoul! It's laughable how cheap public transportation is here. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION! It is one of the few advantages of living in such a population dense city.

I got to go teach the young ones. Really, this is just a long winded update post, which can be boiled down to: I am feeling better, and I got a side job.

나 아파요 ㅜㅜ

The title translated = I am sick. I mean I got the flu. I don't remember the last time I had the flu, but holy shit, I don't know if I have had it this bad before. I spent all weekend in the fetal position shivering under blankets. I am now in day 5 of this son of a gun, and it has regressed to a really bad cold. A couple of weeks ago, we switched Tuesday night poker to Monday. So, every Tuesday morning, my apartment has a bunch of beer bottles littered throughout the apartment from the 6-8 players the night before. Well, this Tuesday morning, the beer was replaced by a weekend's worth of powerade bottles and tissues, leaving my apartment equally as trashed.

Meg, who was doing her best to stay away and still comfort me at the same time, is predictably as sick as a dog right now. I have always had this ability to get anyone close to me sick whenever I am sick. Growing up, I would catch a cold, then give it to my mom who would in turn give it to Dave. Or was Dave already sick? I can't remember he's usually sick for half of the winter anyway. I probably don't wash my hands and don't cover my mouth enough. As Dave says, "you always got to be touching something." Sorry.

I'm all hopped up on medicine, and I'm feeling a little crazy. I am working on about three hours of sleep, and Survivor Gabon takes the fall for that. I have never spent anytime watching any of the Survivors, so I don't know if Gabon is a new or old season. All I know is that I spent the bulk of the night between 1-6 in the morning either watching the show or thinking about it.

Here were some of the questions that popped up in my mind: What strategic alliances would I pursue? How would I handle certain personalities? Take Kenny for example, the guy is a shyster, right? A swindler, but he's a player and I like that. Yes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Okay, I lost it for a second, but I'm back on track. Meg and I had a wonderful Christmas in Seoul. We went to the Hard Rock Cafe. So, I have now been to McDonald's and Hard Rock Cafe in three different continents. Unfortunately, this was the worst Hard Rock I have been to food wise. The chicken was a tad bit dry, and my french dip was a bit too rosemaryie. But the atmosphere was great as always. We took our time and enjoyed each other's company. Then we headed out to the best mall of Korea.

Christmas is a national holiday and every body has the day off, so every other person in Korea apparently wanted to head toward the best mall in Korea as well. If you think traffic is bad on Christmas in the states, Great Gatsby, come to Korea. I don't even like walking with that many people around me. I truly get freaked out. The movie theatre was crowded beyond belief, and all the shows were sold out till like 10; it was 4 in the afternoon. We folded our cards and headed to the only place that would cheer me up: The Arcade. Meg and I engaged in an intense battle for basketball supremacy via a basketball shooting arcade. She won and took my man hood with her.

The day was exactly what I needed, a little R&R. Meg's mother did a fantastic job, and sent us quite a bit of presents. So we had a gift exchange that was reminiscent of our family tradition. We both had Santa hats on, and after every gift opening I would yell out, "let's hear it for the..."

John post # 2

Today, Chris suggested topics for me to write about like a special ed teacher helping some retarded schoolboy lacking the creative intellectual capacities to come up with something comically witty to write on his own. Like the retarded schoolboy Chris seems to deduct me as, I'll obediently take his advice. He anticipated his family would find substantial amusement over my mentioning of items that have recently pissed me off (basically you folks laughing at my expense). Being the retarded schoolboy that I am, having you laugh at me is the greatest value I have to offer you (plus I'm used to it).

This may come as a shocker, but I'm not a real big fan of physical pain, particularly in the cerebral area. Nevertheless, this is exactly what I received from the enormous creature we call Zach. He told me that he had just talked to his Dad. He said his Dad told him to tell everybody "hello" and "slap John on his bald head." To the chagrin of my noggin, Zach relayed the message physically before verbally. Zach's reply, "hey man, don't kill the messenger." Now that my head has stopped ringing like a Salvation Army Christmas bell, I can think clearly enough to realize that it was Mike's way of warmly saying a special "hello" for me, which makes me feel good. Unfortunately, that special "hello" had to pass through the medium of a "Zach-hole" resulting in what I diagnose as a mild concussion (all jokes aside Zach didn't really hit me and let Mike know I return the "hello").

Let's get back to uncharted territory that I like to refer to as the truth. One thing that truly "grinds my gears" (to borrow a Peter Griffin phrase) is Koreans obsessive amount of spitting. I don't know if Chris has mentioned this to you (that would require me to read the blog), but the loogies here are out of control. Worse yet, all ages do it (not just the old who have earned the right to be jerks, but ages of people who haven't, especially babies). Even worse yet, spitting is gender impartial (nothing like seeing Miss Sexy turn into Mr. Ed after releasing large quantities of germ infected liquid from her mouth). Finally worst yet, the place is irrelevant. You see spit outside on the sidewalk, inside on the floor, in the elevator, in the sanctuary, and even in the holy water. Maybe this is some sort of circular justice. Those babies being baptized are just going to have to lie in the bed that they've spat in.

Korean students stink! I mean that in the literal sense of the word. Some of my classes make a football locker room smell like Acqua Di Gio. Trying to get them to use deodorant is like trying to get Mark Mangino to eat a vegetable. Koreans are like "you know what"-holes, they all have one and they all stink. Koreans eat loudly! It's no wonder that the man who once held the world record in eating hot dogs was Asian. Koreans would make a caveman look like he eats with the gracefulness of an English queen. The worst part about it is when teachers eat at school (which they always do). I can't get any work done because I'm being distracted by the eating orchestra. I have important things to do like chatting on facebook or watching youtube clips of midgets fighting monkeys.

Koreans' stinginess with the condiments irritate me like a rash south of the belly button. I'm a big fan of ketchup. At McDonalds, you're lucky to get one package (no dispensers anywhere mind you). That one package lasts me my first three fries, then, what the hell am I supposed to do? I go up and politely ask for some more ketchup, so they hand me one more package. Great, three more fries are taken care of. Keeping my cool, I say, "Umm no. Sorry, you don't understand. I'm going to need a lot of ketchup." They smile and say, "so sorry." They come back with two more packages of ketchup. I proceed to explain to them why they need ketchup dispensers, but they don't know what the word "dispenser" means. Ten minutes later after talking to a 17 year old Korean McDonald worker and unsuccessfully translating to him the condiment obligation of fast food joints, I returned to my fries with my meager three ketchup packages. I still didn't have nearly enough ketchup, but my fries were ice cold by this point, so it didn't matter.

I'm not usually one to complain, but those are a few things that "grind my gears" in Korea. I wish everybody a Merry Christmas.

The Big Fat, Hairy Frog Part 1

I have had problems writing about subjects that are fascinating. I have had writer's block on the DMZ, the weekend Meg and I spent at a Buddhist monastery, and Guam. The DMZ and the monastery were truly special events, and to be honest, I cannot do them justice with my amateur writing skills. I just want to type, "You have to see it, you just have to be there, it was neat." Well, I am forcing myself to write about them right now, in an effort to Eat that Frog.

Guam

Alright I don't remember how much I touched on Guam during the beginning of this blog, but Guam was awful. Guam, the place where Americans first raise, the place where the sun first hits America, the place that isn't really America at all. When I was in Europe, many of the Irish people I worked with would jokingly call America the home of the 48 states, because Alaska and Hawaii don't count. What does that make Guam? Everything in that little island made me mad.

We got off the plane; we had been flying all day. The flight to Hawaii was 10 hours, and then the flight to Guam was another 10 or so. Hell, we even went to Chicago or Houston from Saint Louis before making the flight to Hawaii*. I was on a plane long enough to give Al Gore an ulcer from my massive carbon footprint. We arrived in Guam and immediately went to the airport help desk, because WE WERE IN GUAM. Guam has a wiki page as big as Harrisonville Missouri's. We didn't know what to do; my only information on Guam was my grandpa told me there were no birds on the island because snakes ate all their eggs. Well, I saw birds when the airplane was taxiing down the runway, so that little golden conversation nugget was immediately thrown out the window. No knowledge of the island, and I mean none, but I had a gut feeling that the residents of Guam would be extremely friendly. That's the reputation of island folk anyway.

*It's been a long time since I had to fly all those hours. Now, that I think about it was it Atlanta we flew from or was it Denver...

The helpful man at the desk really did us wonders. We approached him apprehensively, knowing that he spoke English, but having to convince ourselves at the same time.* We weren’t prepared to say the least. We told him that we need to go to this address and pointed at the address on a note card. He told us in perfect English, that we need to go to the Marina hotel. He said that it was 50 dollars a night. We said great! 50 bucks, we'll take. We have made TWO crucial mistakes within 10 minutes of our arrival in Guam.

1. Our first mistake was trusting the guy at the help desk, who spoke perfect English, and may or may not have had the ability to read English.

2. The second mistake was not taking advantage of our free hotel tab, since the teaching academy was going to pick up our hotel tab. I think we didn't really know if the company would pick up the tab, so we just really didn't trust it. Looking back, we placed our faith in the wrong person.

*Maybe it was our apprehension that pissed him off. Maybe he didn't like me because of his secret ability to know that I voted for Bush in 2004, and he hates Bush, and hates the fact that he does not have a vote in the matter. Maybe he thought we were military, and last week some Navy diver just stole his girlfriend, and this diver happened to have an uncanny resemblance to me. I don't know, but I think that he was up to something when he sent us to that shit hole they call Marina Hotel.

The ever so helpful clerk pointed us toward the taxi pick up and drop off place. We were greeted by a friendly Filipino immigrant who spoke like four languages, while being fluent in maybe one of them, and of course it wasn't English. I told him Marina Hotel. He said Hyatt. I told him Marina Hotel, and he said Hamilton. I told him Marina Hotel and he said Marriott. After four more similar exchanges, he asked me if I was sure. He told me that the popular hotels are along the beach. He pointed in the direction of these "popular" hotels and then pointed in the opposite direction towards my sweet Marina. I should have picked up on the many subtle and not so subtle hints that the Marina was away from the action, away from the good beaches, and more likely than not the Marina was going to be a shit hole, but being the optimistic/gullible person that I am, I knew that it would be close to the Korean Immigration office, and any beach would be a short cab ride away. I couldn't even find Guam on the map two days ago; it has to be about the size of Harrisonville right? We could walk!

The next part of the story reminds me of A Boy Named Sue. The cabbie basically dropped us off, said good luck, and KNEW we were going to have to get tough or die! My American pampered ass got dropped off in the worse damn hotel I've ever stayed in, including some questionable hostels in Europe. The worst part about it was that the ride from the airport cost about 35 dollars. You would think that we traveled for twenty five minutes or more to accumulate such a large bill. Noooooo more like ten minutes. Just getting in a taxi cost 6 bucks. Everything on that damn island was very expensive, probably due to the fact that it is in the middle of nowhere. There is an expression BFE, well it should be BFG.

I slept off the anger of the crummy hotel, and looked forward to going to the Korean Embassy which was located near our sweet Marina. The bugs crawling under my sheets gave me a nice massage, anyway, so I got a good night sleep. Well, the morning came as it always has in my first 23 years of existence, and with the help of our hotel desk clerk we headed in the direction of the Korean embassy. Only both the airport help guy and our hotel receptionist sent us to the American embassy. We are now standing in-line with a bunch of non-American citizens renewing their visas, while we are struggling to even get to the Korean embassy. We Were Sent To The Wrong Embassy! We got a new lead on the location of the Korean embassy, so after 25 dollars and five minutes in a taxi we landed right in front of the Korean embassy.

We were interviewed by a Korean who asked us simple questions, but we didn't have the answers. This was a last minute deal. 10 minutes and 20 questions later, I have Meg breaking down because of this man's rudeness and a very real frustration with the process that has been taking place. My Korean company originally gave us a date sometime in early June, now we are in Guam maybe around the 18th of July. They delayed us about a month and a half. Then they sent us NO information of the company or where we would be living, because they needed us so quickly and the details weren’t that much of a priority, I guess. This guy was a dick and had no understanding of our situation at all.

“Hey prick, you ride in a plane for 30 hours, then talk your shit!” I didn't say that, but I should have. The Korean Embassy was full of two applicants: Meg and I. The American embassy, on the other hand, was just like every other government department: busy with customers, unorganized, and awful. Here's the funny thing, I'll take the latter as opposed to some jerk making us feel awful. Not to mention that all those people wanted to go work in America and not in Korea. If there was a time that I thought I made an awful mistake, then that was it, right on the northeast side of BFG.

The mean Korean who was apparently tired of our ignorance sent in his partner who was a younger, nicer man. He told us to come back in at the end of the day for our visa. Outside of the Embassy, we looked around and saw The Hyatt, The Hamilton, and Marriot, literally hundreds of feet from this hell hole embassy. Hopefully you are beginning to see why I hate Guam.

The cab ride back to the shit hole i.e. sweet Marina was another 25 dollars, then the cab ride back to the hell hole i.e. Korean Embassy was another 25, and then back to the shit hole, and then another 30 to the airport. That’s how I kept track of my Guam experience, one expensive cab ride after another. Oh yeah, I experienced a torrential downfall while walking around, had the worse upset stomach of my life (up to that point, it has been exceeded) and I swam in the Ocean near the shit hole, which I later found out to be sewage water. Oh yeah, Guam is a good time, you should go there and stay in the Marina Hotel, and ask the airport desk man for help. Don’t forget to take as many taxi rides as you can!

DMZ pictures

A difference

I have seen 7 movies in Korea, and I've come up with a unique way to tell if I liked the movie. If I really liked the movie, then something different happens once the lights come on. I completely forget my surroundings, and am shocked to see that I am one of two non-Asians in the theater. (Meg being the other) Think about it for a second, when you are watching a good movie the world disappears. So, once those lights turn on, I am expecting to see a bunch of white people rushing out to the parking lot to drive home, not a bunch of Asians rushing to an elevator.* During a good movie, I forget that I am in Asia. Bad movies, well, I remember that I am in Asia. I know that I will stand out walking toward the elevator. I know exactly where I am, there is no "escapism" for bad talking pictures.

* Most movie theaters are on the top floors of department stores. The movie theater I go to is on the 11th and 12th floor, so there is not way I am hoofing down to the bottom, and no one else is thinking about walking either. This results in a rat race to the elevator, pure pandemonium. I don't think I have caught the first elevator yet!!


My DMZ post will be later this week, once I load the pictures that I took.