I've just completed my first week in my first, very own apartment. It's a studio, with a maroon-tiled bathroom and a shower head that hovers over the sink. The few times I have showered in my own bathroom, it's been basically in the middle of the bathroom holding the shower head as to not have it spray out of control all over the toilet paper and the washer, but thankfully, I take most of my showers at the gym. Yes, my washer is inside the bathroom. And no, I haven't done my first load of laundry yet. And the rarely used kitchen is separated from the rest of the living area by a sliding, translucent door that I guess is supposed to create a barrier between the threatening odors of korean food and the rest of the house. The only odors that have crept out of the kitchen are those of the mountain dew cans, neatly lined up beside the sink. I've yet to take them down to the recycling bin outside. And then there's a floor that heats up when I want, and a bed that is positioned perfectly to have a view of the tv with no working remote. The remote actually just doesn't have functioning batteries, but I'm too cheap to go buy new ones.
As you can see, this studio that I would sell my soul to have at this price in New York City is little more than just a place that I can have some peace and quiet after a day of work. I remember being so determined to get a place of my own if I ever did return to Seoul, and now I've got it. I must admit that it is a bit lonely, and I often look at my Subway, McDonalds, or other unfortunate substitute for a home-cooked meal and I can't help but feel like something's amiss. I never envisioned my future as an independent to be riddled with big macs and take out. In fact, not even my summer in New York was reduced to that. That was because I didn't have any money, but I guess we won't go there. I came here chasing money and placing all my eggs in a basket full of middle schoolers. Middle schoolers. That toxic stage of adolescence when you're in the perpetual state of too cool and yet not cool enough. I suppose if I just sat down and thought about that, I would have known that it wouldn't be so much fun.
But it really isn't so bad. I've already had the class from hell and really, it couldn't get any worse (right?). It's just that at times when I'm sitting alone in my apartment, dreaming of what under-5-dollar meal I'll consume the next day, I kind of wish I was sitting on my bed at home, knowing that my dad is watching tv in his room, my brother is incessantly checking his myspace, my mom is rereading the Joel Osteen book, and that in the next few minutes, I'll feel the vibrations from the next plane landing at the airport near our house.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Right Back Where We Started From
A mere 7 hours before my first class, I find myself...nervous. Nervous?! Nervous about something I did 30+ hours a week throughout the summer and had eventually willed myself to do on 0 hours of sleep. Not to say that I was necessarily good at what I did, but my nerves certainly had a break for the summer.
Maybe it's just being back in Seoul. Maybe it's my cheap, should-have-been-fine-but-is-now-a-disaster haircut. Or maybe it's just having to deal with my uncle who wants me to stay with him in his comfy apartment with satisfying dialy meals instead of moving into a studio next to the academy.
I'm just ready for things to get moving. And for my hair to start growing. Fast.
Maybe it's just being back in Seoul. Maybe it's my cheap, should-have-been-fine-but-is-now-a-disaster haircut. Or maybe it's just having to deal with my uncle who wants me to stay with him in his comfy apartment with satisfying dialy meals instead of moving into a studio next to the academy.
I'm just ready for things to get moving. And for my hair to start growing. Fast.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Convert
Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially a mac user. No longer am I a stodgy, bald man in a faded suit. I'm a young twenty-something in a hoodie and dissheveled hair.
So this may have been retail therapy pushed to the extreme, but let me just say that it was an educated purchases with consulting help from my own father.
I also purchased the new iPod shuffle.
take a look at me now.
So this may have been retail therapy pushed to the extreme, but let me just say that it was an educated purchases with consulting help from my own father.
I also purchased the new iPod shuffle.
take a look at me now.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The misanthrope
It's official. I hate everybody in my LSAT class. Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the people that I do hate, I hate them enough to make it seem like I hate the entire class. Don't tell me that I haven't tried. I've tried everything. Alternating deep breaths with my daily affirmation not to hate people and to be thankful for what I have, eating complimentary mints by the handfull, trying to focus on these hopeless logical reasoning questions that have been plaguing me for the past year. It's all useless. I'm a hater.
Like I said, I don't hate everyone. My teacher is incredibly sweet. She says "shucks and jive" and she has funky, thin dreadlocks that don't trigger my gag reflex like caucasian-dreads. And there is another man in the class who is always so earnest and eager to get the questions right, that it kind of makes me want to be a better person. He's trying to get into law school so he doesn't have to be a fast food manager anymore. And that's just about where my capacity for amity stops. It's just so frustrating because I didn't pay $1000+ dollars to spend 6 hours a day with a botched version of the brat pack. Sure it would be fun if we all shared sushi, danced on tables, and stuck it to "the Man," but instead I leave every class feeling like my heart is being pushed up against the front of my chest.
Allow me to illustrate...there's the recent college grad who overenunciates the beginning and end of his "ums." There's the overenthusiastic Indian man,who says "number A, B, C..." and premise as "pre-mice"(not something I hate him for, just an amusing quirk) and can't control the volume of his voice. There's the woman who always wears velour track/sweat pants and feels the need to tell us every superfluous detail of her life. She even told our teacher after lending her a dollar for a snack, "Don't worry about paying me back. I'm a financial planner. I make money for a living." Maybe that's how she's been able to take this course more times than the rest of us combined. And then there's my nemesis. I don't really know how this girl got pegged as my nemesis, but she is and I'm incredibly ashamed of it. She's smart. LSAT smart. She makes getting the questions right look as effortless as clipping toenails. Yeah, so I didn't say it was pretty. This girl, who unfortuantely is an alumni of my would-be alma mater, talks in monotone, laughs through the roof of her mouth, and blurts out answers before we've even had a chance to talk about the question. She smiles at me when we happen to make eye contact. I don't smile back.
I promise I won't complain about my LSAT anymore after this. I may have said that in a previous post; if I did, disregard it and take my word on this one. But as the course nears its end, I can look at it in two ways. 1) This is a clear sign that I will never be happy in a world of lawyers, both in training and established. Or 2) This is just another obstacle course in life for me that will end in what I hope will be me opening my email to find an LSAT score that will subsequently have me doing a happy dance in my apartment in Seoul. And it's obvious that there's only source of all this hatred. The church would have me call it the Devil, and I'm inclined to agree with them on this one. Ok, so maybe all this bargaining and making decisions in life for the wrong things wasn't the greatest choice, and the Devil may have gotten my $1000. But if all goes well--and I'm talking beyond the LSATs here--none of this will even matter.
*****
On a lighter note, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow.
And Gwen Stefani's album comes out December 5th.
Like I said, I don't hate everyone. My teacher is incredibly sweet. She says "shucks and jive" and she has funky, thin dreadlocks that don't trigger my gag reflex like caucasian-dreads. And there is another man in the class who is always so earnest and eager to get the questions right, that it kind of makes me want to be a better person. He's trying to get into law school so he doesn't have to be a fast food manager anymore. And that's just about where my capacity for amity stops. It's just so frustrating because I didn't pay $1000+ dollars to spend 6 hours a day with a botched version of the brat pack. Sure it would be fun if we all shared sushi, danced on tables, and stuck it to "the Man," but instead I leave every class feeling like my heart is being pushed up against the front of my chest.
Allow me to illustrate...there's the recent college grad who overenunciates the beginning and end of his "ums." There's the overenthusiastic Indian man,who says "number A, B, C..." and premise as "pre-mice"(not something I hate him for, just an amusing quirk) and can't control the volume of his voice. There's the woman who always wears velour track/sweat pants and feels the need to tell us every superfluous detail of her life. She even told our teacher after lending her a dollar for a snack, "Don't worry about paying me back. I'm a financial planner. I make money for a living." Maybe that's how she's been able to take this course more times than the rest of us combined. And then there's my nemesis. I don't really know how this girl got pegged as my nemesis, but she is and I'm incredibly ashamed of it. She's smart. LSAT smart. She makes getting the questions right look as effortless as clipping toenails. Yeah, so I didn't say it was pretty. This girl, who unfortuantely is an alumni of my would-be alma mater, talks in monotone, laughs through the roof of her mouth, and blurts out answers before we've even had a chance to talk about the question. She smiles at me when we happen to make eye contact. I don't smile back.
I promise I won't complain about my LSAT anymore after this. I may have said that in a previous post; if I did, disregard it and take my word on this one. But as the course nears its end, I can look at it in two ways. 1) This is a clear sign that I will never be happy in a world of lawyers, both in training and established. Or 2) This is just another obstacle course in life for me that will end in what I hope will be me opening my email to find an LSAT score that will subsequently have me doing a happy dance in my apartment in Seoul. And it's obvious that there's only source of all this hatred. The church would have me call it the Devil, and I'm inclined to agree with them on this one. Ok, so maybe all this bargaining and making decisions in life for the wrong things wasn't the greatest choice, and the Devil may have gotten my $1000. But if all goes well--and I'm talking beyond the LSATs here--none of this will even matter.
*****
On a lighter note, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow.
And Gwen Stefani's album comes out December 5th.
Friday, November 03, 2006
I'm not dead...yet
To all (2) of my blog readers,
I apologize for the dearth of blog posts this past month. I can't believe it's been almost a month without any updates; again, my most sincerest apologies. I've noticed while reading many of your own blogs that you've used this as a mechanism for diversion. My sources of diversion in these perilous days of the LSAT, unfortunately, have been sulking, watching movies in bed, and falling asleep, upright in my bed, with the lights on. No blogging.
Please allow me to gather my thoughts a little bit as I pull myself out of this rut. I've already established myself a set of affirmations that I hope, upon daily--or perhaps even hourly-- repetitions will bring me back to my blog-dependancy.
Soon enough, you too/two (o, how I crack myself up) will come to understand these deep feelings of doubt and pain that I've been enduring at home, the clinic and at my LSAT class. Prepare to be dazzled.
Just know that looking at your own blogs have warmed my heart many a times throughout this past month.
Love,
Paul
I apologize for the dearth of blog posts this past month. I can't believe it's been almost a month without any updates; again, my most sincerest apologies. I've noticed while reading many of your own blogs that you've used this as a mechanism for diversion. My sources of diversion in these perilous days of the LSAT, unfortunately, have been sulking, watching movies in bed, and falling asleep, upright in my bed, with the lights on. No blogging.
Please allow me to gather my thoughts a little bit as I pull myself out of this rut. I've already established myself a set of affirmations that I hope, upon daily--or perhaps even hourly-- repetitions will bring me back to my blog-dependancy.
Soon enough, you too/two (o, how I crack myself up) will come to understand these deep feelings of doubt and pain that I've been enduring at home, the clinic and at my LSAT class. Prepare to be dazzled.
Just know that looking at your own blogs have warmed my heart many a times throughout this past month.
Love,
Paul
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
The little things
I think I've finally got it. I've finally fallen into a certain groove, a daily routine that gets me from week to week. Sadly enough, it is week to week, as opposed to day to day. Staying at home just doesn't have the daily surprises that come with attending school or teaching kids. As a result, I've had to find other things to keep me entertained and moving to the weekends which have fortunately been a pleasant refuge from dialysis and LSATs. I've spent all summer complaining about...everything. So perhaps it's time for a change. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the little things that before may have seemed mundane and unimportant but are now the reasons I wake up in the morning...
...driving past the crossguard who waves at me for no reason after I drop off my brother at school
...finding a stack of papers at the clinic to file in the records room. The records room happens to be the only room in the clinic that I can be alone and sing to myself
...eating lunch in the break room where I can listen in on conversations spoken in English, Korean, and Spanish
...putting my Sun Chips inside my turkey sandwich during said lunch time
...slipping out of the clinic without saying goodbye to the mean head nurse with chronically pursed lips and the belief that the male patients are trying to flirt with her
...the glorious complimentary mints at the LSAT class
...Sunday evening Amazing Race
...Sunday evening rerun of America's Next Top Model
...Sunday evening Brothers & Sisters
...waving at strangers who are running opposite me at the park
...exercising my vocal chops in the Toyota Cressida en route to Fort Worth and Dallas.
Screw the little things for now though. This Saturday I get to see Yo Yo Ma and Joshua Bell in concert at a big gala at the Meyerson. I just need to get my bow tie to finish off my black-tie outfit. Just one little accessory in preparation for what I hope will be a BIG event.
...driving past the crossguard who waves at me for no reason after I drop off my brother at school
...finding a stack of papers at the clinic to file in the records room. The records room happens to be the only room in the clinic that I can be alone and sing to myself
...eating lunch in the break room where I can listen in on conversations spoken in English, Korean, and Spanish
...putting my Sun Chips inside my turkey sandwich during said lunch time
...slipping out of the clinic without saying goodbye to the mean head nurse with chronically pursed lips and the belief that the male patients are trying to flirt with her
...the glorious complimentary mints at the LSAT class
...Sunday evening Amazing Race
...Sunday evening rerun of America's Next Top Model
...Sunday evening Brothers & Sisters
...waving at strangers who are running opposite me at the park
...exercising my vocal chops in the Toyota Cressida en route to Fort Worth and Dallas.
Screw the little things for now though. This Saturday I get to see Yo Yo Ma and Joshua Bell in concert at a big gala at the Meyerson. I just need to get my bow tie to finish off my black-tie outfit. Just one little accessory in preparation for what I hope will be a BIG event.
Monday, September 25, 2006
When life turns to lemonade...
I am now 22 years old. A week into this new adventure, may I add. I'm sure we've all heard that saying about when life gives you lemons, then make lemonade. Something like that? Lemons --> lemonade. Simple. I've certainly had my share of lemons in life and looking back, I think I've made my own share of homemade lemonade. Not good lemonade. But good enough. I mean...I'm here. Alive.
As I leave behind my undergraduate years, I've decided to take one extra plunge. Why not take lemons and make lemonade? Literally. And drink it. 10 glasses a day. Nothing else. Just...lemonade. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I've taken on the master cleanse! Also known as "detoxification." I've always been one for spiritual detox, but now I'm undergoing a physiological detox! Well, I think only my intestines and colon will be fully aware of the effects but that's a different blog post.
So here I am. 12 hours into the master cleanse. And I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. I suppose detoxing isn't supposed to be a pleasant experience, but why on earth did I think that denying myself the pleasures of solid food would be a worthwhile experience? First, I have to clarify and say that this isn't any old Country Time. It's a homespun concoction including fresh lemon juice (I've opted for the bottled lemon juice because I'm too lazy to squeeze), organic grade b maple syrup, water, and a dash of cayenne pepper. Not to mention a quart of water mixed with non-iodized sea salt every morning for--as the website purports--"enhanced bowel movement." All the cues to this endeavor were red flags telling me to stay away and enjoy a toxic lifestyle. Nevermind that my friend quit after 3 days and a subsequent nose-bleed, nevermind the no-food rule, nevermind the CAYENNE PEPPER, which may I add tastes horrendous. I've embarked on a new stage of my life and I'm determined to follow this thing through...Friday. Maybe.
Not only does the lemonade taste like the bastard child of bad lemons and a cajun entree, but the first day has been excruciating. I certainly didn't receive the memo, but it must have been doughnuts day at the dialysis clinic today. There were doughnuts pouring out of every orifice of that bleach-scented clinic. Doughnuts were offered to me by the patients, the other secretaries, the head nurse...there were even some mysterious doughnuts just lying in a chair in the break room. I know the sensual experience of eating original glazed doughnuts inside and out. Thank the Lord these weren't Krispy Kremes because I may have had to gnaw on my hand all day long. But original glazed doughnuts...I know their sticky touch to the fingers, their sugary smell, the feel of that first bite all the way to that doughy after-taste that can only be resolved with a cold glass of milk. I grew so anxious throughout the day that by the time I'd left at 3 pm, I just had to touch one doughnut with my finger. I hope nobody ate that.
Four more days. Four more days to make these damned lemons I've picked for myself and somehow make lemonade that'll go down and enhance bowel movement. Because that's what you do in life, right? Now if I could only get as much publicity for my detox as Kate Moss. What sweet lemonade that would be...
As I leave behind my undergraduate years, I've decided to take one extra plunge. Why not take lemons and make lemonade? Literally. And drink it. 10 glasses a day. Nothing else. Just...lemonade. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I've taken on the master cleanse! Also known as "detoxification." I've always been one for spiritual detox, but now I'm undergoing a physiological detox! Well, I think only my intestines and colon will be fully aware of the effects but that's a different blog post.
So here I am. 12 hours into the master cleanse. And I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. I suppose detoxing isn't supposed to be a pleasant experience, but why on earth did I think that denying myself the pleasures of solid food would be a worthwhile experience? First, I have to clarify and say that this isn't any old Country Time. It's a homespun concoction including fresh lemon juice (I've opted for the bottled lemon juice because I'm too lazy to squeeze), organic grade b maple syrup, water, and a dash of cayenne pepper. Not to mention a quart of water mixed with non-iodized sea salt every morning for--as the website purports--"enhanced bowel movement." All the cues to this endeavor were red flags telling me to stay away and enjoy a toxic lifestyle. Nevermind that my friend quit after 3 days and a subsequent nose-bleed, nevermind the no-food rule, nevermind the CAYENNE PEPPER, which may I add tastes horrendous. I've embarked on a new stage of my life and I'm determined to follow this thing through...Friday. Maybe.
Not only does the lemonade taste like the bastard child of bad lemons and a cajun entree, but the first day has been excruciating. I certainly didn't receive the memo, but it must have been doughnuts day at the dialysis clinic today. There were doughnuts pouring out of every orifice of that bleach-scented clinic. Doughnuts were offered to me by the patients, the other secretaries, the head nurse...there were even some mysterious doughnuts just lying in a chair in the break room. I know the sensual experience of eating original glazed doughnuts inside and out. Thank the Lord these weren't Krispy Kremes because I may have had to gnaw on my hand all day long. But original glazed doughnuts...I know their sticky touch to the fingers, their sugary smell, the feel of that first bite all the way to that doughy after-taste that can only be resolved with a cold glass of milk. I grew so anxious throughout the day that by the time I'd left at 3 pm, I just had to touch one doughnut with my finger. I hope nobody ate that.
Four more days. Four more days to make these damned lemons I've picked for myself and somehow make lemonade that'll go down and enhance bowel movement. Because that's what you do in life, right? Now if I could only get as much publicity for my detox as Kate Moss. What sweet lemonade that would be...
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Wedding Crashers
This past weekend marked the second wedding featuring people who in my mind actually matter. It would be useless to go into the details of what happened, who was wearing what, and how unbelievably happy everyone was for the couple. So I won't. After all, what decent wedding movie actually focuses on the wedding itself or the couple at hand? Nobody cares about that stuff because everyone already knows what's going to happen; it's the stuff that happens on the periphery that matters. My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Who actually gave a flip what happened to that main Greek woman and long-haired Aiden from Sex and the City? It was the supporting cast that made the movie.
So if the bride and groom were perfect, the dinner was perfect, and the artificial reunion with friends was perfect...that leaves the other stuff, which was not so perfect. Ofcourse i was expecting the barage of questions about what I was doing, how Korea was, and "what? LSATs? I didn't know you wanted to be a lawyer." But leave it to just one person to let those questions sour your mood. After I told a friend's mother that I didn't have a job, she let out one of those shrill can't-tell-if-she's-faking-it laughs and proceeded to tell me how her daughter had not only found a job, but graduated from college, AND gotten married. There it was. The ultimate trifecta of success as measured by Texan mothers, and I'd only checked off one. She didn't stop there. She flashed her own left hand and brazenly announced that she too had gotten married just several weeks before her daughter. She stopped herself and laid her limp wristed hand on my arm and asked, "Well did you atleast graduate?" "Yes," I answered sheepishly. I would have judo-chopped her face with a "...PHI BETA KAPPA, you biatch!" but somehow it still pales in comparison to a wedding ring and a steady cash flow.
I'd already been dreading the reception, seeing as how my best friends were all members of the wedding party and that left me with...no one. I purposely arrived a little late and walked in with a friend of mine who'd luckily come to the wedding plus none. We quickly helped ourselves to glasses of wine and sat at the only remaining table, so far in the back that we didn't even have the privilege of sitting in the main hall. May I also mention how this was the only table located in the serving room/bar. Adding insult to injury, the one person I didn't want to sit with us mingled over to our table. I don't know what it is about tax auditors or people in accounting, but you just get the impression that these people are really fit for these ungodly jobs and nothing else. You have a conversation with these people (2 in this case) and think to yourself, "I'm really glad I'm not in accounting." Even if there's a healthy paycheck in it, it's just not worth it. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by people hellbent to avoid that route for the majority of my college career and atleast for this past summer, I surrounded myself with, well...interesting people.
So really just two crashes at an otherwise fine wedding. I don't see myself going to another one for quite sometime. And next time I'll follow through with the wise choice to bring a date.
So if the bride and groom were perfect, the dinner was perfect, and the artificial reunion with friends was perfect...that leaves the other stuff, which was not so perfect. Ofcourse i was expecting the barage of questions about what I was doing, how Korea was, and "what? LSATs? I didn't know you wanted to be a lawyer." But leave it to just one person to let those questions sour your mood. After I told a friend's mother that I didn't have a job, she let out one of those shrill can't-tell-if-she's-faking-it laughs and proceeded to tell me how her daughter had not only found a job, but graduated from college, AND gotten married. There it was. The ultimate trifecta of success as measured by Texan mothers, and I'd only checked off one. She didn't stop there. She flashed her own left hand and brazenly announced that she too had gotten married just several weeks before her daughter. She stopped herself and laid her limp wristed hand on my arm and asked, "Well did you atleast graduate?" "Yes," I answered sheepishly. I would have judo-chopped her face with a "...PHI BETA KAPPA, you biatch!" but somehow it still pales in comparison to a wedding ring and a steady cash flow.
I'd already been dreading the reception, seeing as how my best friends were all members of the wedding party and that left me with...no one. I purposely arrived a little late and walked in with a friend of mine who'd luckily come to the wedding plus none. We quickly helped ourselves to glasses of wine and sat at the only remaining table, so far in the back that we didn't even have the privilege of sitting in the main hall. May I also mention how this was the only table located in the serving room/bar. Adding insult to injury, the one person I didn't want to sit with us mingled over to our table. I don't know what it is about tax auditors or people in accounting, but you just get the impression that these people are really fit for these ungodly jobs and nothing else. You have a conversation with these people (2 in this case) and think to yourself, "I'm really glad I'm not in accounting." Even if there's a healthy paycheck in it, it's just not worth it. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by people hellbent to avoid that route for the majority of my college career and atleast for this past summer, I surrounded myself with, well...interesting people.
So really just two crashes at an otherwise fine wedding. I don't see myself going to another one for quite sometime. And next time I'll follow through with the wise choice to bring a date.
Friday, September 08, 2006
How much is "not much"?
Several days after a flight to Chicago, a connecting flight to Boston, a round-trip bus journey to and from Amherst, a much delayed flight from Boston to Atlanta, and a post-midnight flight to DFW, I find myself right back where I started: in front of my computer in my pajamas at 9 AM. I had a great time visiting friends and feeling as if this brief visit was but a mere prelude to packing my belongings and moving into my friends' dorms. I wish I hadn't been such a moron and forgotten to put my newly charged batteries into my digital camera, but suffice it to say, this weekend was simply...great.
I never realized just how much I say "Not much." Especially following the overly banal, conversation-starter "What's goin' on?" And ofcourse you have to respond to such a dull question with "Not much." I think I said that about fifty times over the course of the weekend. "What are you up to now, Paul?" "Oh, not much." I sat around and watched a lot of reruns of My Super Sweet Sixteen, Next, Two-A-Days, and Project Runway. If you asked me, my reunion with cable television was hardly "not much." ButI should really stop kidding myself; I was on the verge of useless, while my friends ran around preparing for their last year of college. I spent an entire two years with Colin's run-down futon (God rest its soul) and somehow felt equally acquainted with the new futon, rainbow tie-dyed mattress and all.
This "not much" doing was, however, exactly what I needed. I really needed this time to actually verbalize my plans for the next several months and convince people that my entire "I have no clue what to do in life" front was just a cover up for a minor plan that would get me through the next few months. And not only did I reacquaint myself with cable television, but also with the eggs from Valentine (both scrambled and over-easy) and the Peter Pan Bus. The latter is something I actually vowed never to do again, but it was really the only way to get from Boston to Amherst.
Now I'm back, and somehow the same answer of "not much" isn't sounding so great. No worries. I do have several prospects for part-time jobs to keep me occupied during the day with LSAT classes in the evenings. And thank the Lord, I've got a couple friends still around the DFW metroplex who will take me around the sights and excites of downtown Dallas--something I never really did get a chance to experience. But every hour that I spend thinking about which gift off the registry to buy or which room in the house deserves to get vacuumed first, I can't help but feel that something went terribly wrong. Something in that plan that started when I filled out all those Ivy League college applications back in my senior year of high school, dreaming of extravagant paychecks on the east or west coast.
I really have no excuse to be so negative. It's just that I'm still on an awful sleep schedule that puts me to bed around 7:30 pm and wakes me up at 4 am. This isn't jet lag. This is me having "not much" to do. That "not much" which was so much fun just a week ago has now turned into a funk that I'm relying on tonight and tomorrow to fix.
Tonight: dinner and drinks
Tomorrow: the wedding
I never realized just how much I say "Not much." Especially following the overly banal, conversation-starter "What's goin' on?" And ofcourse you have to respond to such a dull question with "Not much." I think I said that about fifty times over the course of the weekend. "What are you up to now, Paul?" "Oh, not much." I sat around and watched a lot of reruns of My Super Sweet Sixteen, Next, Two-A-Days, and Project Runway. If you asked me, my reunion with cable television was hardly "not much." ButI should really stop kidding myself; I was on the verge of useless, while my friends ran around preparing for their last year of college. I spent an entire two years with Colin's run-down futon (God rest its soul) and somehow felt equally acquainted with the new futon, rainbow tie-dyed mattress and all.
This "not much" doing was, however, exactly what I needed. I really needed this time to actually verbalize my plans for the next several months and convince people that my entire "I have no clue what to do in life" front was just a cover up for a minor plan that would get me through the next few months. And not only did I reacquaint myself with cable television, but also with the eggs from Valentine (both scrambled and over-easy) and the Peter Pan Bus. The latter is something I actually vowed never to do again, but it was really the only way to get from Boston to Amherst.
Now I'm back, and somehow the same answer of "not much" isn't sounding so great. No worries. I do have several prospects for part-time jobs to keep me occupied during the day with LSAT classes in the evenings. And thank the Lord, I've got a couple friends still around the DFW metroplex who will take me around the sights and excites of downtown Dallas--something I never really did get a chance to experience. But every hour that I spend thinking about which gift off the registry to buy or which room in the house deserves to get vacuumed first, I can't help but feel that something went terribly wrong. Something in that plan that started when I filled out all those Ivy League college applications back in my senior year of high school, dreaming of extravagant paychecks on the east or west coast.
I really have no excuse to be so negative. It's just that I'm still on an awful sleep schedule that puts me to bed around 7:30 pm and wakes me up at 4 am. This isn't jet lag. This is me having "not much" to do. That "not much" which was so much fun just a week ago has now turned into a funk that I'm relying on tonight and tomorrow to fix.
Tonight: dinner and drinks
Tomorrow: the wedding
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
When the jet lags...
Somehow I managed to escape the perils of jetlag when I flew to Korea. I arrived in the afternoon and managed to go on a nice power walk throughout a neighborhood of Seoul with my aunt. Now I'm back at home, waking up at 3 am and taking 4 hr naps at 3 pm. I've missed Oprah two days in a row! I tried so hard to stay up until 4 pm today but I lost steam around 3:30, probably a result of my 1:30 Taco Bell lunch. So I'm going to stay up for as long as I can here and then go to sleep (hopefully around 2?) and then go on with my day tomorrow just like any other Wednesday in Coppell, Texas. No poignant revelations in this post (not that there were every any before); just my own desperate attempt to stay awake.
It seems that my attempts to break into Hollywood grandeur have officially infiltrated my subconscious. Last night I dreamed that I was making a home video for Julianne Moore, her husband, Greg Kinnear, and Laura Linney at some swank lounge. Now, I did just see a preview for Mr. Juliane Moore's new movie starring Julianne and I saw Little Miss Sunshine with Kinnear earlier this week. But Ms. Linney. That was a wildcard. So what would Freud have to say about this? Well, I'm somehow so obsessed with Hollywood that I would be willing to play fifth wheel and video tape these celebrities...and Julianne is probably my mother who I've suppressed latent oedipal feelings for (I did find Julianne quite fetching in Boogie Nights) and Greg Kinnear...hmm...I want to be him? I mean, he was nominated for an Oscar.
From Hollywood to lying awake in my bed at 3:30 am, I quickly decided that I absolutely HAD to go to Taco Bell today for lunch. So everything I did from then on revolved around how I would somehow make it to the Taco Bell drive-thru after a jog in the park. Mission accomplished. Not really too hard considering it just involved attempting to read a Korean GQ at 4 in the morning and my sitting in front of the computer writing a TOEFL test section until about 11. Slowly reading the GQ quickly turned into just looking at the pictures and TOEFL test writing morphed into finding album art for my itunes and listening to Christina Aguilera's new album.
If this is how it continues on, I'm in deep shit.
But somewhere between Taco Bell and the local Albertson's, I did decide to retake the LSATs in December and take the TestMaster's Prep course starting the end of September.
More deep shit.
It seems that my attempts to break into Hollywood grandeur have officially infiltrated my subconscious. Last night I dreamed that I was making a home video for Julianne Moore, her husband, Greg Kinnear, and Laura Linney at some swank lounge. Now, I did just see a preview for Mr. Juliane Moore's new movie starring Julianne and I saw Little Miss Sunshine with Kinnear earlier this week. But Ms. Linney. That was a wildcard. So what would Freud have to say about this? Well, I'm somehow so obsessed with Hollywood that I would be willing to play fifth wheel and video tape these celebrities...and Julianne is probably my mother who I've suppressed latent oedipal feelings for (I did find Julianne quite fetching in Boogie Nights) and Greg Kinnear...hmm...I want to be him? I mean, he was nominated for an Oscar.
From Hollywood to lying awake in my bed at 3:30 am, I quickly decided that I absolutely HAD to go to Taco Bell today for lunch. So everything I did from then on revolved around how I would somehow make it to the Taco Bell drive-thru after a jog in the park. Mission accomplished. Not really too hard considering it just involved attempting to read a Korean GQ at 4 in the morning and my sitting in front of the computer writing a TOEFL test section until about 11. Slowly reading the GQ quickly turned into just looking at the pictures and TOEFL test writing morphed into finding album art for my itunes and listening to Christina Aguilera's new album.
If this is how it continues on, I'm in deep shit.
But somewhere between Taco Bell and the local Albertson's, I did decide to retake the LSATs in December and take the TestMaster's Prep course starting the end of September.
More deep shit.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Ode to Hoyah
I started off this blog with a pretty negative attitude and left Korea with a pretty awful experience packing and having to make an abbreviated goodbye to my friends as I left for a Korean island. So this is it then? I'm back in the States...and I've yet to stop by Taco Bell or kiss the ground in gratitutde of the great U.S. of A. In fact, I'm just faced with a lot of apprehension and anxiety. Friends are moving on in life and in school and I'm...still here. Provided it's only been 2 days since I've been back, but still, everything about me at this moment tells me that I should be on vacation. I'm sitting in my pajamas in front of the computer at 9 AM, home alone and a week filled with mindless errands. The last time I did this was...winter break, when I knew I didn't have any homework because the semester would start anew with new classes and old faces.
So all I've got to salvage any bit of personal dignity is to think back on all those good times in Korea. After the incident in the subway station, I was almost certain that that would be my defining moment in Korea. And in a way, it has been. Whenever anyone asks me about my time in Korea, I always think of that one incident, but ofcourse I just give my well-rehearsed, neutral answer of "oh, it was really great. I was really blessed to have that opportunity, even though it was really challenging. But I met some really good people...blah blah blah." I feel like I'm rehearsing a monologue for a bit part on 7th Heaven.
Cheryl, always one to comfort me in my complaining, told me that ofcourse, that one incident would not be the defining moment from Korea. As much as I'd like to think she's wrong, at moments like this, when all I've got is to look at the good times and not the bad, I see that I have some great moments to add to my mental photo album. So what if they consisted of 45 minute lunches at a nearby snack bar or drinking beer on plastic chairs outside a local convenient store? I've realized that I need to make a concerted effort to make my own defining moments throughout all the ups and downs...and finding them is not really as hard as I make it out to be.
Here's to the people who helped make my defining moments of summer 2006:
Juliana: My fellow TOEFL Speaking/Writing teacher in crime. She travels the world AND she's a snowboard instructor. How 'bout that. Thank you for always going to McDonald's with me and cracking jokes about our TOEFL curriculum. Um..and did I mention that she got 3rd place in a dance competition at one of the biggest clubs in Seoul?
Ms. Jenny O: Cheryl is definitely right. Jenny was the girl that all the Korean men would stop to look at (quite inconspicuously), not to mention, also the sleazy American men. Hey, what can you do when you're Caucasian and beautiful. I've often been plagued with the same problem. I like to think Jenny and I are soulmates because we both love country music, mexican food and margaritas. The only thing that keeps us from being ABSOLUTE soulmates is her love of hiking and nature. And Jenny knows that I'm just not down with that.
Ahrum: Remember that movie My Sassy Girl? That movie you heard was so good, but then you watched it, and then you wanted to go and throw up on the filmmakers in a subway, just like the title character does to her boyfriend? Well, I think those Korean filmmakers originally meant to cast Ahrum in the title role because she is in fact quite sassy. Winston, NC is lucky to have her. She was also studying for the LSATs this summer, and we all know how much I love the LSATs.
Hae Jin: I honestly have no idea why our paths did not cross earlier at Amherst. We had many of the same friends but the only interaction I had with her was a drunken high five we gave each other the day before graduation. Rest assured, there were many more drunken high fives this summer. There are three things that I will always associate with Hae Jin for the rest of my life: 1) "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls. 2) Kim-bop. 3) Pat-bing-su (red bean shaved ice dessert).
Cheryl: I knew that Cheryl was badass when someone at one of the first Hoyah dinners said something ridiculous and we both caught each other's eye with a "what the fuck?!" expression. Cheryl always reminds us young-uns that everything's going to be alright in life. She's also a blog whore so I know that there will always be atleast one person to read over this nonsense that I write. She couldn't have said it better herself: we both love ice cream and Augusten Burroughs. And did I mention that she's badass? See you in Austin in a couple weeks, Cheryl!
Definitely 10 out of 10.
So all I've got to salvage any bit of personal dignity is to think back on all those good times in Korea. After the incident in the subway station, I was almost certain that that would be my defining moment in Korea. And in a way, it has been. Whenever anyone asks me about my time in Korea, I always think of that one incident, but ofcourse I just give my well-rehearsed, neutral answer of "oh, it was really great. I was really blessed to have that opportunity, even though it was really challenging. But I met some really good people...blah blah blah." I feel like I'm rehearsing a monologue for a bit part on 7th Heaven.
Cheryl, always one to comfort me in my complaining, told me that ofcourse, that one incident would not be the defining moment from Korea. As much as I'd like to think she's wrong, at moments like this, when all I've got is to look at the good times and not the bad, I see that I have some great moments to add to my mental photo album. So what if they consisted of 45 minute lunches at a nearby snack bar or drinking beer on plastic chairs outside a local convenient store? I've realized that I need to make a concerted effort to make my own defining moments throughout all the ups and downs...and finding them is not really as hard as I make it out to be.
Here's to the people who helped make my defining moments of summer 2006:
Juliana: My fellow TOEFL Speaking/Writing teacher in crime. She travels the world AND she's a snowboard instructor. How 'bout that. Thank you for always going to McDonald's with me and cracking jokes about our TOEFL curriculum. Um..and did I mention that she got 3rd place in a dance competition at one of the biggest clubs in Seoul?
Ms. Jenny O: Cheryl is definitely right. Jenny was the girl that all the Korean men would stop to look at (quite inconspicuously), not to mention, also the sleazy American men. Hey, what can you do when you're Caucasian and beautiful. I've often been plagued with the same problem. I like to think Jenny and I are soulmates because we both love country music, mexican food and margaritas. The only thing that keeps us from being ABSOLUTE soulmates is her love of hiking and nature. And Jenny knows that I'm just not down with that.
Ahrum: Remember that movie My Sassy Girl? That movie you heard was so good, but then you watched it, and then you wanted to go and throw up on the filmmakers in a subway, just like the title character does to her boyfriend? Well, I think those Korean filmmakers originally meant to cast Ahrum in the title role because she is in fact quite sassy. Winston, NC is lucky to have her. She was also studying for the LSATs this summer, and we all know how much I love the LSATs.
Hae Jin: I honestly have no idea why our paths did not cross earlier at Amherst. We had many of the same friends but the only interaction I had with her was a drunken high five we gave each other the day before graduation. Rest assured, there were many more drunken high fives this summer. There are three things that I will always associate with Hae Jin for the rest of my life: 1) "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls. 2) Kim-bop. 3) Pat-bing-su (red bean shaved ice dessert).
Cheryl: I knew that Cheryl was badass when someone at one of the first Hoyah dinners said something ridiculous and we both caught each other's eye with a "what the fuck?!" expression. Cheryl always reminds us young-uns that everything's going to be alright in life. She's also a blog whore so I know that there will always be atleast one person to read over this nonsense that I write. She couldn't have said it better herself: we both love ice cream and Augusten Burroughs. And did I mention that she's badass? See you in Austin in a couple weeks, Cheryl!
Definitely 10 out of 10.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Jitter Bug
It's that time again. When you're about to leave a city/place/whatever and you have those jitters the night before. You drive through the city one last time and you look around and think to yourself, "Well, this wasn't so bad. I think I'm actually going to miss it." And then you get to thinking of all the things you wish you could have done, all the things you wish you could have done over, and all the things that you actually did. It's like your life flashing before your eyes but in a good teary-eyed, nostalgic way that really puts that final chapter of your adventure to a close.
That's the kind of the feeling I had driving through Olympic Expressway with my aunt to my uncle's house for one last time. Looking at the numerous bridges that had been beautifully lit by colored lights, diverting attention from the muggy waters below to the beautiful cityscape lights above, really made me think about my time here, the relatives I "reconnected" with, and the wonderful friends I made. It's the same feeling I had when I left New York City after one summer and the same thing I felt when I left Amherst--minus the urban skyline.
Leave it to Seoul to really put me from hero to zero once more. I hate to use this blog as an outlet to complain, but Cheryl is no longer here so I have no one to complain to. I arrive at my uncle's to finish packing most of my luggage and I find that my aunt has already packed all of my clothes into one big suitcase. Hmm..now I don't remember ever being able to do that, but I'm extremely grateful. She always does things without my knowing, and more often than not, they're really kind things, such as washing my shoes that I'd intended to throw away and always giving me an extra banana milkshake in the morning. So I was extremely relieved that now I could pack the rest of my things into my other big suitcase that would be checked in at the airport. Little did I know, my aunt and uncle had their own plans of what to put in that suitcase. They had originally told me that there wasn't much stuff at all to send back home with me. The usual Korean fare for relatives going back to the States is just a bunch of random Korean spices and foods that don't have to be declared through customs. Because Lord knows, you can't buy that stuff in the States (you actually can, but it always tastes "better" when it's direct from the Motherland in a suitcase instead of a cargo plane).
But after they had stuffed numerous bags of made-in-Korea food and packages of seaweed, I realized there was absolutely no room for any of my other items, most importantly my shoes and other miscellaneous items. My shoes!! I realized that I would have to take some stuff back to the States but not enough to feed all of North Korea! My goodness. And if you know me, you know that I'm not such a great packer. In fact, I spend the entire night before packing for big excursions and I almost ALWAYS overpack--although I always manage to forget that ONE important item.
So not only do I have to sit there and contemplate how I'm going to get all my crap into a bag, but I've got my uncle making fun of all the shoes and clothes that I've brought, telling me that the next time I come to Korea, I shouldn't pack that many clothes or shoes. Just two or three pairs are enough. Two or three pairs???? I think during the course of a day here in Korea, I've worn three different pairs of shoes. In one day!! And that's not including when I go clubbing! And I sit. Continuing to sweat profusely. Because that's what happens when I get stressed and when I just sit around in general. At one point, I literally just SAT there, looking at my luggage, clueless as of what to do while my uncle continued to talk loudly (not shout) at me, telling me what to put where.
Here's what I've got. 2 big suitcases, both of which I pray to GOD are at the 30 kg mark. And 3 carryo-ons. here's where things get tricky. My uncle just told me to ask an "American" who doesn't have two carry-ons to carry one of mine onto the plane because I speak English well and can somehow cajole some unknowing American into doing that for me. Realizing the potential for this plan to fail, I put my own personal nonessentials into that bag (gifts for two VERY special people included--SORRY!).
Now on top of my usual leaving-somewhere-and-going-somewhere-else jitters, I've got the customs-jitters. Bad enough that they've got the crack-down on terrorism because of that crazy business in London. And I've got the usual flying-makes-me-hysterical jitters because I've seen too many movies and tv shows involving terror and planes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I've got the I-carry-around-too-many-shoes jitters. I mean, you just don't laugh at someone's cowboy boots. They may have been only 20 bucks and they may be too big for me feet, but I love them. I love my boots. I love my shoes. And they love me.
Note: none of my shoes were placed in the nonessentials bag.
That's the kind of the feeling I had driving through Olympic Expressway with my aunt to my uncle's house for one last time. Looking at the numerous bridges that had been beautifully lit by colored lights, diverting attention from the muggy waters below to the beautiful cityscape lights above, really made me think about my time here, the relatives I "reconnected" with, and the wonderful friends I made. It's the same feeling I had when I left New York City after one summer and the same thing I felt when I left Amherst--minus the urban skyline.
Leave it to Seoul to really put me from hero to zero once more. I hate to use this blog as an outlet to complain, but Cheryl is no longer here so I have no one to complain to. I arrive at my uncle's to finish packing most of my luggage and I find that my aunt has already packed all of my clothes into one big suitcase. Hmm..now I don't remember ever being able to do that, but I'm extremely grateful. She always does things without my knowing, and more often than not, they're really kind things, such as washing my shoes that I'd intended to throw away and always giving me an extra banana milkshake in the morning. So I was extremely relieved that now I could pack the rest of my things into my other big suitcase that would be checked in at the airport. Little did I know, my aunt and uncle had their own plans of what to put in that suitcase. They had originally told me that there wasn't much stuff at all to send back home with me. The usual Korean fare for relatives going back to the States is just a bunch of random Korean spices and foods that don't have to be declared through customs. Because Lord knows, you can't buy that stuff in the States (you actually can, but it always tastes "better" when it's direct from the Motherland in a suitcase instead of a cargo plane).
But after they had stuffed numerous bags of made-in-Korea food and packages of seaweed, I realized there was absolutely no room for any of my other items, most importantly my shoes and other miscellaneous items. My shoes!! I realized that I would have to take some stuff back to the States but not enough to feed all of North Korea! My goodness. And if you know me, you know that I'm not such a great packer. In fact, I spend the entire night before packing for big excursions and I almost ALWAYS overpack--although I always manage to forget that ONE important item.
So not only do I have to sit there and contemplate how I'm going to get all my crap into a bag, but I've got my uncle making fun of all the shoes and clothes that I've brought, telling me that the next time I come to Korea, I shouldn't pack that many clothes or shoes. Just two or three pairs are enough. Two or three pairs???? I think during the course of a day here in Korea, I've worn three different pairs of shoes. In one day!! And that's not including when I go clubbing! And I sit. Continuing to sweat profusely. Because that's what happens when I get stressed and when I just sit around in general. At one point, I literally just SAT there, looking at my luggage, clueless as of what to do while my uncle continued to talk loudly (not shout) at me, telling me what to put where.
Here's what I've got. 2 big suitcases, both of which I pray to GOD are at the 30 kg mark. And 3 carryo-ons. here's where things get tricky. My uncle just told me to ask an "American" who doesn't have two carry-ons to carry one of mine onto the plane because I speak English well and can somehow cajole some unknowing American into doing that for me. Realizing the potential for this plan to fail, I put my own personal nonessentials into that bag (gifts for two VERY special people included--SORRY!).
Now on top of my usual leaving-somewhere-and-going-somewhere-else jitters, I've got the customs-jitters. Bad enough that they've got the crack-down on terrorism because of that crazy business in London. And I've got the usual flying-makes-me-hysterical jitters because I've seen too many movies and tv shows involving terror and planes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I've got the I-carry-around-too-many-shoes jitters. I mean, you just don't laugh at someone's cowboy boots. They may have been only 20 bucks and they may be too big for me feet, but I love them. I love my boots. I love my shoes. And they love me.
Note: none of my shoes were placed in the nonessentials bag.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Rest and not so much relaxation
I realize that a blog post is long overdue. In fact, I've got an unfinished waiting in queue on this blogger as we speak. But I've just returned from "vacation" in Jeju, so I figure I might as well write what's fresh on my mind.
So a trip to Jeju, South Korea. I guess that's how I'd write it. I'm still uncertain as to the relationship Jeju has with the rest of Korea. A state? A territory like Puerto Rico? I'm not sure, but somehow, having to ride a plane across a body of water makes it seem more like a Puerto Rico than a Palm Springs. I went thinking that this would be a well-deserved vacation after a hard summer's work at Hoyah Academy. And being in a different country, ofcourse, lends itself to its share of ups and downs. But hey, I just got back from 4 days without internet access. That in and of itself is a major up. Somebody give me a high five.
It's really hot here
my my...it feels like a cloud is suffocating my face. That's kind of how I felt the entire time I was there. And sometimes, the clouds actually were in my face. One minute it would be sunny; the next there would be a huge downpour. Mother nature, how you love to play these foolish games.
Lost
We got to go to an actual, life-size maze. Yes! Those mazes that you only see on tv and in books with other hallucinogenic things, such as playing card men and dodo birds. As lame as I felt asking my relatives to take me there, I knew I'd never be able to find one in the US (or atleast in Texas). As a I began to wander through the maze with my cousins, I started to realize why this sort of "maze park" would never fly in the US. This shrubbery of..."fun" is literally a lawsuit waiting to happen. What kind of person would PAY to get lost? Evidently, a lot of fellow Jeju-do travellers. I tried to impress my cousin by looking at a map and boldly proclaiming that I did know the way out. Not only did I NOT know the way out, but I slipped down an entire flight of stairs in my muddy flip flops. There's just no redeeming yourself after falling down a flight of stairs.
It's noon...I think
There's some old Korean tradition, that I may have just made up, where you absolutely must accept any alcohol given to you by an elder. Yeah, I think I might have made that up, but I think it stems from some truth. It just so happens that by this time during my stay in Korea, I've grown to detest soju. Soju = death. It used to be the perfect companion to good times back in the day (i.e., June) but now all I can think of whenever I drink it is rubbing alcohol. It smells bad, it tastes bad, and one shot of it doesn't even get you drunk. But ofcourse, I HAVE to accept it when my oldest uncle offers me some...at lunch time. Not once, not twice, but THRICE during my stay in Jeju, I felt the effects of Korean moonshine right around noon time. Sometimes, drinking just is not as fun when you know that you won't be dancing it off within an hour.
No speak Korean
So that's kind of a lie. I can most certainly get by with my Korean. But you can't "go on vacation" to a place where the language is not your first language. Sure it's fun to experience a new culture and eat new food (note: not all the food was quite so fun--sea cucumber, octopus, squid...not so fun), but when it's a constant struggle to communicate?? When you can't even crack a joke because Korean just doesn't have the capabilities to sustain subtle American sarcasm?? When you can't be yourself because all your sentences trail off because of lack of language skills?? That's certainly not a vacation. However, I've noticed that a little bit of alcohol--just like a spoonful of sugar--makes the medicine go down and the korean come out MUCH easier. Due to the aforementioned lunchtime soju, I was able to have some good conversations with my relatives. No worries...there was no dancing involved.
Still waiting for that high five
Although I had quite a bit of trouble carrying on conversation like a normal Korean, there were times when I was mistaken for *gasp* an ACTUAL Korean! Ever since I've stepped foot here in Korea, I haven't really felt like an ACTUAL Korean. Some of my relatives judge the basis of my Korean-ness on my ability to eat kimchi, while others expect me to eat crazy things because I am by some default, KOREAN. Walking around Seoul, I've never felt like one of these people. I stand as an outsider, a man from across the ocean, and thus, I'm free to judge and criticize and even laugh at these so-called Koreans. But there is this sense of satisfaction when strangers do think you're one of them and even through a slightly botched accent, they seem to accept you. People would ask me questions at the hotel and on the street about how much things cost or where something was, and after hearing my response would either ask me more questions or politely thank me. They think I'm Korean!! I just gave myself another high five right here in front of this computer.
A couple more days and I'm back in the States Back to being "Korean American" and back to the real world. First stop...Taco Bell.
So a trip to Jeju, South Korea. I guess that's how I'd write it. I'm still uncertain as to the relationship Jeju has with the rest of Korea. A state? A territory like Puerto Rico? I'm not sure, but somehow, having to ride a plane across a body of water makes it seem more like a Puerto Rico than a Palm Springs. I went thinking that this would be a well-deserved vacation after a hard summer's work at Hoyah Academy. And being in a different country, ofcourse, lends itself to its share of ups and downs. But hey, I just got back from 4 days without internet access. That in and of itself is a major up. Somebody give me a high five.
It's really hot here
my my...it feels like a cloud is suffocating my face. That's kind of how I felt the entire time I was there. And sometimes, the clouds actually were in my face. One minute it would be sunny; the next there would be a huge downpour. Mother nature, how you love to play these foolish games.
Lost
We got to go to an actual, life-size maze. Yes! Those mazes that you only see on tv and in books with other hallucinogenic things, such as playing card men and dodo birds. As lame as I felt asking my relatives to take me there, I knew I'd never be able to find one in the US (or atleast in Texas). As a I began to wander through the maze with my cousins, I started to realize why this sort of "maze park" would never fly in the US. This shrubbery of..."fun" is literally a lawsuit waiting to happen. What kind of person would PAY to get lost? Evidently, a lot of fellow Jeju-do travellers. I tried to impress my cousin by looking at a map and boldly proclaiming that I did know the way out. Not only did I NOT know the way out, but I slipped down an entire flight of stairs in my muddy flip flops. There's just no redeeming yourself after falling down a flight of stairs.
It's noon...I think
There's some old Korean tradition, that I may have just made up, where you absolutely must accept any alcohol given to you by an elder. Yeah, I think I might have made that up, but I think it stems from some truth. It just so happens that by this time during my stay in Korea, I've grown to detest soju. Soju = death. It used to be the perfect companion to good times back in the day (i.e., June) but now all I can think of whenever I drink it is rubbing alcohol. It smells bad, it tastes bad, and one shot of it doesn't even get you drunk. But ofcourse, I HAVE to accept it when my oldest uncle offers me some...at lunch time. Not once, not twice, but THRICE during my stay in Jeju, I felt the effects of Korean moonshine right around noon time. Sometimes, drinking just is not as fun when you know that you won't be dancing it off within an hour.
No speak Korean
So that's kind of a lie. I can most certainly get by with my Korean. But you can't "go on vacation" to a place where the language is not your first language. Sure it's fun to experience a new culture and eat new food (note: not all the food was quite so fun--sea cucumber, octopus, squid...not so fun), but when it's a constant struggle to communicate?? When you can't even crack a joke because Korean just doesn't have the capabilities to sustain subtle American sarcasm?? When you can't be yourself because all your sentences trail off because of lack of language skills?? That's certainly not a vacation. However, I've noticed that a little bit of alcohol--just like a spoonful of sugar--makes the medicine go down and the korean come out MUCH easier. Due to the aforementioned lunchtime soju, I was able to have some good conversations with my relatives. No worries...there was no dancing involved.
Still waiting for that high five
Although I had quite a bit of trouble carrying on conversation like a normal Korean, there were times when I was mistaken for *gasp* an ACTUAL Korean! Ever since I've stepped foot here in Korea, I haven't really felt like an ACTUAL Korean. Some of my relatives judge the basis of my Korean-ness on my ability to eat kimchi, while others expect me to eat crazy things because I am by some default, KOREAN. Walking around Seoul, I've never felt like one of these people. I stand as an outsider, a man from across the ocean, and thus, I'm free to judge and criticize and even laugh at these so-called Koreans. But there is this sense of satisfaction when strangers do think you're one of them and even through a slightly botched accent, they seem to accept you. People would ask me questions at the hotel and on the street about how much things cost or where something was, and after hearing my response would either ask me more questions or politely thank me. They think I'm Korean!! I just gave myself another high five right here in front of this computer.
A couple more days and I'm back in the States Back to being "Korean American" and back to the real world. First stop...Taco Bell.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
From heat to beat
In a high-paced city like Seoul, my mood can go from one extreme to another in a matter of minutes. It's funny how life can be like that sometimes; one second you're on cloud nine and in another you're eating dirt. The one thing that really does it for me is heat. Standing in a subway station with absolutely no fans or a/c makes me want to poke an eye out or even jump in front of an oncoming subway train. There's just something so awful about standing in place letting the sweat trickle down your neck and back as it sticks to your clothes.
Despite my heat spell in the Hongdae subway station yesterday, I contemplated what a great day I had actually had. Sweat stains and all, I had learned to water ski in the morning/afternoon, gone shopping in Hongdae, and spent time with some of my favorite Hoyah teachers. The picture perfect Korean Independence Day.
As you could have guessed, here's where my faced gets shoved into the dirt. HARD.
As I preparedto turn the last corner up towards the last escalator to the subway station exit, a man came up to face and looked me hard in the eyes. This man was either under the influence of some chemical substance or checking me out not so inconspicuously. As we got closer to each other, he grabs my bag and asks me, "You know who I am? Don't you know what you've done? Come with me!" Being the silly materialistic that I am, the first thought that races through my mind is "Holy shit, my ipod, wallet and recently purchased star-patterned neck tie are all in this bag!" But I held to my bag and simply told him I didn't know who he was nor did I know what I "had done." The man simply sneered at me and insisted that I come out of the subway station with him. If Oprah has taught me anything, it's that you never let the aggressor take you to that second location. I have seen several episodes where people have presented their own testimonials on this survival fact. You do NOT let him/her take you to the second location!
I quickly turned around as he continued to hold onto my bag and dragged him towards the top of the escalator I had just come up from. I figured, if I block this escalator, people who had to use this escalator would surely put an end to this nonsense. Instead, the man continued to yell some uncomprehensible words (due to my limited Korean and state of panic) and held on to my bag as he threw his fist back in preparation to fight. As he did this, the people around seemed to pay no attention to my terrified eyes and merely slipped beside onto the escalator, without even a raised eyebrow. Hello??? I'm about to get punched in the face by a stranger!! And then the man got out his cell phone and told whoever was outside the station to come down because he "had found the person."
At this moment, my own worst fears, fueled by my grandmother's very first piece of advice about Korean "gangsters," began to materialize in my overwrought imagination. I could picture it now. His entire gang would come down the stairs and beat me to a pulp while the main aggressor took my bag away, ipod and all. I did have limited knowledge of taekwondo but that would have only come in handy if this man's face was a 2-inch thick wooden block. Perhaps I could try to get him to punch, dodge his punch, and then pull out a judo chop on the back of his neck. Or I could just stand at the top of the escalator and continue to convince him that I had never seen him or done anything. He continued to ask me, "If you didn't do anything, then why are you trying to run away? Come out of the station!" Hey, you big fuck. Asking me that kind of rhetorical question is the universal question to get some idiot to actually follow you. Obviously my imagination has been tainted by the harsh cynicism and crime-ridden plot lines of American tv. I knew right then and there that I would be the topic of some night-time Korean news program: "Korean American in pink polo found beaten to a pulp inside Sangdo station. " Let those bitches at CSI figure THAT one out.
I finally heard the pounding footsteps of someone coming from far away to catch this "person" who had done "something," and instead of being a troupe of Korean bandits, it was a young woman in heels shouting at her boyfriend, "He's not the one!!! It's not him!!!!" The man continued to hold my bag and shout at me until the girlfriend came up to him and pleaded with him that I "wasn't him." The woman apologized profusely for the mistake and the man simply let go of my bag and told me to go away.
Hold the FUCK up. JUST...HOLD...UP! Not even an apology??? Ofcourse I was far too shocked to ask for one, so I simply walked away, ashamed of this man, ashamed of the people who did nothing to help me, and ashamed of myself. If there's anything I got out of this, it's this:
1) Korean men suck.
2) I am an utter wuss. Not only was I unable to stand up for myself, but I completely lost control of my senses in the face of this ridiculous man.
3) Maybe I'm not quite so ready to be in the real world by myself. I, who for so long have longed to just be on my own and brave the harsh realities of life, can't do it. Not just yet. I need to go home. And have the comfort of my family. And know that there are always friends to back me up just in case a random man threatens to kill me. I'm only 21--almost 22. Just give me a break. I'll be ready for life...later.
Despite my heat spell in the Hongdae subway station yesterday, I contemplated what a great day I had actually had. Sweat stains and all, I had learned to water ski in the morning/afternoon, gone shopping in Hongdae, and spent time with some of my favorite Hoyah teachers. The picture perfect Korean Independence Day.
As you could have guessed, here's where my faced gets shoved into the dirt. HARD.
As I preparedto turn the last corner up towards the last escalator to the subway station exit, a man came up to face and looked me hard in the eyes. This man was either under the influence of some chemical substance or checking me out not so inconspicuously. As we got closer to each other, he grabs my bag and asks me, "You know who I am? Don't you know what you've done? Come with me!" Being the silly materialistic that I am, the first thought that races through my mind is "Holy shit, my ipod, wallet and recently purchased star-patterned neck tie are all in this bag!" But I held to my bag and simply told him I didn't know who he was nor did I know what I "had done." The man simply sneered at me and insisted that I come out of the subway station with him. If Oprah has taught me anything, it's that you never let the aggressor take you to that second location. I have seen several episodes where people have presented their own testimonials on this survival fact. You do NOT let him/her take you to the second location!
I quickly turned around as he continued to hold onto my bag and dragged him towards the top of the escalator I had just come up from. I figured, if I block this escalator, people who had to use this escalator would surely put an end to this nonsense. Instead, the man continued to yell some uncomprehensible words (due to my limited Korean and state of panic) and held on to my bag as he threw his fist back in preparation to fight. As he did this, the people around seemed to pay no attention to my terrified eyes and merely slipped beside onto the escalator, without even a raised eyebrow. Hello??? I'm about to get punched in the face by a stranger!! And then the man got out his cell phone and told whoever was outside the station to come down because he "had found the person."
At this moment, my own worst fears, fueled by my grandmother's very first piece of advice about Korean "gangsters," began to materialize in my overwrought imagination. I could picture it now. His entire gang would come down the stairs and beat me to a pulp while the main aggressor took my bag away, ipod and all. I did have limited knowledge of taekwondo but that would have only come in handy if this man's face was a 2-inch thick wooden block. Perhaps I could try to get him to punch, dodge his punch, and then pull out a judo chop on the back of his neck. Or I could just stand at the top of the escalator and continue to convince him that I had never seen him or done anything. He continued to ask me, "If you didn't do anything, then why are you trying to run away? Come out of the station!" Hey, you big fuck. Asking me that kind of rhetorical question is the universal question to get some idiot to actually follow you. Obviously my imagination has been tainted by the harsh cynicism and crime-ridden plot lines of American tv. I knew right then and there that I would be the topic of some night-time Korean news program: "Korean American in pink polo found beaten to a pulp inside Sangdo station. " Let those bitches at CSI figure THAT one out.
I finally heard the pounding footsteps of someone coming from far away to catch this "person" who had done "something," and instead of being a troupe of Korean bandits, it was a young woman in heels shouting at her boyfriend, "He's not the one!!! It's not him!!!!" The man continued to hold my bag and shout at me until the girlfriend came up to him and pleaded with him that I "wasn't him." The woman apologized profusely for the mistake and the man simply let go of my bag and told me to go away.
Hold the FUCK up. JUST...HOLD...UP! Not even an apology??? Ofcourse I was far too shocked to ask for one, so I simply walked away, ashamed of this man, ashamed of the people who did nothing to help me, and ashamed of myself. If there's anything I got out of this, it's this:
1) Korean men suck.
2) I am an utter wuss. Not only was I unable to stand up for myself, but I completely lost control of my senses in the face of this ridiculous man.
3) Maybe I'm not quite so ready to be in the real world by myself. I, who for so long have longed to just be on my own and brave the harsh realities of life, can't do it. Not just yet. I need to go home. And have the comfort of my family. And know that there are always friends to back me up just in case a random man threatens to kill me. I'm only 21--almost 22. Just give me a break. I'll be ready for life...later.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Almost worth it
Emails from students of mine who recently ended their run in my TOEFL course:
"Thanks for teaching me SKILLS. I will see you somewhere around Hoyah."
"Thank you for taught me. Lets keep touching each other with e-mail." (nevermind the serious grammar mistake there...)
"Paul. I will miss you. Thank you for teaching me."
At this point, I don't even care if these boys' parents forced them to send me a thank-you email.
After a long hard day, these little messages really do make the blood, sweat and tears--ok, so just A LOT of sweat-- worth it.
"Thanks for teaching me SKILLS. I will see you somewhere around Hoyah."
"Thank you for taught me. Lets keep touching each other with e-mail." (nevermind the serious grammar mistake there...)
"Paul. I will miss you. Thank you for teaching me."
At this point, I don't even care if these boys' parents forced them to send me a thank-you email.
After a long hard day, these little messages really do make the blood, sweat and tears--ok, so just A LOT of sweat-- worth it.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Korean glaze
Upon arriving Seoul, I have indulged myself with a total of three Krispy Kreme Original Glazed doughnuts, two of which have been given to me free of charge. Apparently, in an effort to copy all things American, the Krispy Kremes here have a red circular light that when turned on indicates that any passerby may come in and enjoy one free doughnut straight off the oil and confectionary conveyer belt. This red light also appears in Krispy Kreme doughnut shops all across the United States?
With each bite of these delectable delights from heaven, I've been reminded of home. Reminded of the time our marching band sold them by the dozen for fund-raising. Reminded of the time I bought a box for myself and made myself sick. Reminded of the time my mom used to take me to the store after my SAT-prep class for a post-study doughnut. Despite the once sick-spell, these doughnuts have come to symbolize all that is good in life and the ultimate symbol of self-denial; surely something this good can't be THAT bad for you.
And so one orgasmic bite after another, I long for the days that I drove around Coppell, Texas in my royal blue Toyota Cressida and partook in my daily afternoon nap with Oprah. Nevermind that the Krispy Kreme I most recently frequented was in the basement floor of an upscale department store. None of these Prada/Chanel/Burberry-clad Koreans can distract me from my nostalgic journey across the Pacific. Proust had his madeleines. I've got the ORIGINAL GLAZED!
It wasn't until I was standing in the subway looking up at an ad for Krispy Kreme that I realized something was really off about these magical doughnuts in Korea. This ad featured four young Korean twenty-something (maybe thirty-something) females sitting around a box of Krispy Kremes a la Sex and the City. Nothing would have made me happier to see an ad for Krispy Kremes with four attractive young ladies eating away their man troubles. Or perhaps a late-night munchies run? Carrie & Co. would have been so proud.
But instead, not one woman had the doughnut anywhere near her mouth. Not...one... One of them with just a tad more plump arms (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that--but perhaps a calculated casting decision done by the ad agency?) was holding the doughnut in one hand and appeared to bring it up to her mouth, while the other women just sat around laughing. Laughing as if the thought of eating one doughnut was absolutely preposterous. No wonder the one woman with the doughnut in hand looked hesitant and not quite as exuberant as the other three. They were probably making fun of her!
Why won't these women eat the doughnuts? It's not a beer ad. They are completely able to bring the doughnuts to their mouths and really feel the fat in their bodies congeal into extra pounds. But no. This ad, the product of psychological conditioning at its best, was made simply to associate good times with doughnut. Doughnut + people ( - consumption) = good times. And true to form, I've once again become disappointed with all things Korean.
These doughnuts, the source of goodness in my life, have become vehicles for commercial globalization, thereby sacrificing their luscious flavor and post-consumptive consequences. No one should be wearing Prada with a Krispy Kreme. Just a Cressida. And perhaps a shoulder to cry on.
With each bite of these delectable delights from heaven, I've been reminded of home. Reminded of the time our marching band sold them by the dozen for fund-raising. Reminded of the time I bought a box for myself and made myself sick. Reminded of the time my mom used to take me to the store after my SAT-prep class for a post-study doughnut. Despite the once sick-spell, these doughnuts have come to symbolize all that is good in life and the ultimate symbol of self-denial; surely something this good can't be THAT bad for you.
And so one orgasmic bite after another, I long for the days that I drove around Coppell, Texas in my royal blue Toyota Cressida and partook in my daily afternoon nap with Oprah. Nevermind that the Krispy Kreme I most recently frequented was in the basement floor of an upscale department store. None of these Prada/Chanel/Burberry-clad Koreans can distract me from my nostalgic journey across the Pacific. Proust had his madeleines. I've got the ORIGINAL GLAZED!
It wasn't until I was standing in the subway looking up at an ad for Krispy Kreme that I realized something was really off about these magical doughnuts in Korea. This ad featured four young Korean twenty-something (maybe thirty-something) females sitting around a box of Krispy Kremes a la Sex and the City. Nothing would have made me happier to see an ad for Krispy Kremes with four attractive young ladies eating away their man troubles. Or perhaps a late-night munchies run? Carrie & Co. would have been so proud.
But instead, not one woman had the doughnut anywhere near her mouth. Not...one... One of them with just a tad more plump arms (not that there is ANYTHING wrong with that--but perhaps a calculated casting decision done by the ad agency?) was holding the doughnut in one hand and appeared to bring it up to her mouth, while the other women just sat around laughing. Laughing as if the thought of eating one doughnut was absolutely preposterous. No wonder the one woman with the doughnut in hand looked hesitant and not quite as exuberant as the other three. They were probably making fun of her!
Why won't these women eat the doughnuts? It's not a beer ad. They are completely able to bring the doughnuts to their mouths and really feel the fat in their bodies congeal into extra pounds. But no. This ad, the product of psychological conditioning at its best, was made simply to associate good times with doughnut. Doughnut + people ( - consumption) = good times. And true to form, I've once again become disappointed with all things Korean.
These doughnuts, the source of goodness in my life, have become vehicles for commercial globalization, thereby sacrificing their luscious flavor and post-consumptive consequences. No one should be wearing Prada with a Krispy Kreme. Just a Cressida. And perhaps a shoulder to cry on.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
You're so vain
Admit it. Every time you walk past a reflective surface, you take a quick glance at yourself. Maybe not even a quick glance. Sometimes you may even stop to fix a stray hair, fix your tie, or even just stop and admire your goddamn beautiful self.
I do it.
Not excessively. Not that it's anything to be ashamed of; it's a completely natural human inclination. Funny that I just read a lecture to my students from the TOEFL book about animal self-awareness. Apparently, chimpanzees increase self-grooming and touching when shown a reflection of themselves. These TOEFL books are just chock FULL of knowledge; those kids just don't appreciate the academic goldmine that lies in front of them.
The other day, I may have crossed the line. It's one thing to fix a stray hair or a lopsided faux-hawk. But as I stood in front of the mirror in the locker room of California WOW, I made a clear leap-frog over self-awareness into the realms of utter vanity. As I changed into my clothes after a shower, I stood in front of the mirror and almost by sheer accident, by some uncontrollable twitch of the body, my left hip jutted to the side and...I struck a pose. A quick pose. But a pose nonetheless. I could have done Tyra proud.
Just to make sure that this hadn't been one of those bodily twitches that occurs because of fatigue, I slowly repeated the motion and confirmed that I had, indeed, struck a pose. Madonna told us to strike a pose because "there's nothing to it," but there is something to it. As ashamed as I am of having given the mirror at my gym a split-second show, I like to think that I'm just a victim of this image-obsessed society. You may think this is all just mumbo jumbo, academic broo-haha. Quite the contrary, I am surrounded on a daily basis by the pressure to look "good." My students, for example, never fail to point out something about the way I look.
"Why are you always trying to copy David Beckham?"
What are you talking about?? Beckham totally stole the faux-hawk from me!
"Why do you cuff your pants up like that so much?"
So I can give you idiots a nice view of my hairy ankles.
"Whoa, I can't believe you're wearing white shoes!"
Why don't you shut up and work on your essay before this white shoe ends up in your face.
That's my defense, and I'm sticking to it. I'm a victim of a society where clothes truly make the man/woman. And this ridiculous pose that I can't get out of my mind--which I hope was really just a private encounter between myself and the mirror--must be some sort of sign that the critical Korean eye has crept into my subconscious. Crept in and started breeding a nasty strain of severe self-consciousness and the bodily/sartorial obsession.
I may return to the United States and comment on how your legs look fat in that skirt or how you might look better with a different haircut.
Just remember, it's not my fault.
I do it.
Not excessively. Not that it's anything to be ashamed of; it's a completely natural human inclination. Funny that I just read a lecture to my students from the TOEFL book about animal self-awareness. Apparently, chimpanzees increase self-grooming and touching when shown a reflection of themselves. These TOEFL books are just chock FULL of knowledge; those kids just don't appreciate the academic goldmine that lies in front of them.
The other day, I may have crossed the line. It's one thing to fix a stray hair or a lopsided faux-hawk. But as I stood in front of the mirror in the locker room of California WOW, I made a clear leap-frog over self-awareness into the realms of utter vanity. As I changed into my clothes after a shower, I stood in front of the mirror and almost by sheer accident, by some uncontrollable twitch of the body, my left hip jutted to the side and...I struck a pose. A quick pose. But a pose nonetheless. I could have done Tyra proud.
Just to make sure that this hadn't been one of those bodily twitches that occurs because of fatigue, I slowly repeated the motion and confirmed that I had, indeed, struck a pose. Madonna told us to strike a pose because "there's nothing to it," but there is something to it. As ashamed as I am of having given the mirror at my gym a split-second show, I like to think that I'm just a victim of this image-obsessed society. You may think this is all just mumbo jumbo, academic broo-haha. Quite the contrary, I am surrounded on a daily basis by the pressure to look "good." My students, for example, never fail to point out something about the way I look.
"Why are you always trying to copy David Beckham?"
What are you talking about?? Beckham totally stole the faux-hawk from me!
"Why do you cuff your pants up like that so much?"
So I can give you idiots a nice view of my hairy ankles.
"Whoa, I can't believe you're wearing white shoes!"
Why don't you shut up and work on your essay before this white shoe ends up in your face.
That's my defense, and I'm sticking to it. I'm a victim of a society where clothes truly make the man/woman. And this ridiculous pose that I can't get out of my mind--which I hope was really just a private encounter between myself and the mirror--must be some sort of sign that the critical Korean eye has crept into my subconscious. Crept in and started breeding a nasty strain of severe self-consciousness and the bodily/sartorial obsession.
I may return to the United States and comment on how your legs look fat in that skirt or how you might look better with a different haircut.
Just remember, it's not my fault.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
I smile no more
My entire post that I just put up somehow disappeared because I can't understand the blasted Korean words on this site.
I am doubly angry.
And I will sulk in this dank PC room.
To sum up the post: this day has been a complete waste.
I need a drink.
I am doubly angry.
And I will sulk in this dank PC room.
To sum up the post: this day has been a complete waste.
I need a drink.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
It's not me; it's you
Massachusetts. New York. There's really not that much of a difference, right? Both in the Northeast. Both have gorgeous falls and brutal winters. Just a three hour drive from Amherst, MA to New York, NY; in Texas, that'll cover the diameter of a single metroplex. But for some reason, whenever my grandmother asks me for the name of my college that's "somewhere in New York," I become outraged. The conversation always goes a little like this:
Grandmother (in Korean): Can you write down the name of your school for me? All I can remember is that it's in New York.
Me: My school's not in New York.
Grandmother: It's not? Where is it?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Mass....what?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother:....
Me: The same state that Harvard is in.
Grandmother:...
Me: 3 hours north of New York.
Grandmother: (smiles)
And with that smile, I know that I've lost. That smile is her way of telling me, "No, I refuse to understand what is coming out of your mouth. Look how satisfied I am with knowing that your school is in New York."
Wait a minute. Shouldn't I be the one in this country that's not supposed to know what's going on or what this and that word means? And shouldn't I be the one sending these uncompromising pleasant smiles to people to let them know that as a foreigner, "I refuse to understand!" Mind you, I've had this conversation with my grandmother more than 5 times.
So today I set out to end this once and for all, for my own sake, for my grandmother's sake and for my alma mater's sake. And so for the 6th, 7th, xth time...
Grandmother: Can you write down the name of your school for me again? I keep forgetting it and all I remember is that it's in New York.
Me: Grandmother, my school is not in New York. (notice the emphasis on "not")
Grandmother: Really? Then where is it?
Me: (here it goes) Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Can you write that down for me?
Me: (writes down) See. Mass-a-chu-setts.
Grandmother: Is this in New York?
Me: No. It's 3 hours north of New York. Did my mother tell you my school was in New York? Because she's been there twice.
Grandmother: Yeah, she did. She went up to New York for your graduation.
Me: Well, Massachusetts is not New York. My school is an hour and a half west of Harvard.
Grandmother: I always thought Harvard was in Washington, D.C.
And all I could do was smile. Smile and take another bite out of the sliced watermelon that my grandmother so dutifully prepares for me. The K.O. smile that indicates that it's over and that no one will succeed, in either the understand or the explaining. I'll just have to live with the fact that my grandmother will never be able to say "Massachusetts" and let her believe that Amherst College is really in the Big Apple--a fact that my mom may already have been aware of.
The week is about to start anew, which means....another week of TOEFL and another week of combatting blank stares from young Korean adolescents.
Grandmother (in Korean): Can you write down the name of your school for me? All I can remember is that it's in New York.
Me: My school's not in New York.
Grandmother: It's not? Where is it?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Mass....what?
Me: Massachusetts.
Grandmother:....
Me: The same state that Harvard is in.
Grandmother:...
Me: 3 hours north of New York.
Grandmother: (smiles)
And with that smile, I know that I've lost. That smile is her way of telling me, "No, I refuse to understand what is coming out of your mouth. Look how satisfied I am with knowing that your school is in New York."
Wait a minute. Shouldn't I be the one in this country that's not supposed to know what's going on or what this and that word means? And shouldn't I be the one sending these uncompromising pleasant smiles to people to let them know that as a foreigner, "I refuse to understand!" Mind you, I've had this conversation with my grandmother more than 5 times.
So today I set out to end this once and for all, for my own sake, for my grandmother's sake and for my alma mater's sake. And so for the 6th, 7th, xth time...
Grandmother: Can you write down the name of your school for me again? I keep forgetting it and all I remember is that it's in New York.
Me: Grandmother, my school is not in New York. (notice the emphasis on "not")
Grandmother: Really? Then where is it?
Me: (here it goes) Massachusetts.
Grandmother: Can you write that down for me?
Me: (writes down) See. Mass-a-chu-setts.
Grandmother: Is this in New York?
Me: No. It's 3 hours north of New York. Did my mother tell you my school was in New York? Because she's been there twice.
Grandmother: Yeah, she did. She went up to New York for your graduation.
Me: Well, Massachusetts is not New York. My school is an hour and a half west of Harvard.
Grandmother: I always thought Harvard was in Washington, D.C.
And all I could do was smile. Smile and take another bite out of the sliced watermelon that my grandmother so dutifully prepares for me. The K.O. smile that indicates that it's over and that no one will succeed, in either the understand or the explaining. I'll just have to live with the fact that my grandmother will never be able to say "Massachusetts" and let her believe that Amherst College is really in the Big Apple--a fact that my mom may already have been aware of.
The week is about to start anew, which means....another week of TOEFL and another week of combatting blank stares from young Korean adolescents.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
That place called home
CHS Class of '02
Leslie, Myself, and Michelle. I think every picture I have of them involves this couch at the Kogler house.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
This has got to stop
Or else I will be missing an eyebrow.
I looked in the mirror the other day to find that a portion of my right eyebrow was lacking in hairs, almost as if I had taken a piece of scotch tape, taped it to the corner of my brow and haphazardly ripped it off. But it's not a case of the phantom eyebrow that gradually disappears until I wake up to find a bare brow. I know why the hairs are missing...thus making it all the more pathetic that I haven't found any measures to stop it.
Everyone has his or her way of relieving stress: blowing air out, wringing hands, twisting hair. I rub my eyebrows. Rub them to satisfaction until the individual hairs land on my shirt. Sometimes I place one index finger on one brow and my thumb on the other and then slowly bring my fingers together and apart. Other times I put one index finger on each brow and lightly scratch as if there were mosquito bites beneath my brows. I don't know why I do it. It just happens; just like biting ones nails...only a little...cleaner. Kind of.
I don't know what would be worse. Having a single uni-brow traveling the length of my forehead or two half brows acting as the visible artifacts of my stress. Either way, my patchy brow has now become the symbol of all things bad that have happened here in Korea. As much as I would love to love my students and love to love my daily commute, it is hard. And I have the missing eyebrows to prove it!
The other day I was riding in a crowded subway, body parts mashed together and face in someone's hair (luckily, I happen to be above average in height, so I can usually escape the face in the armpits). Basically, within these close comforts, I have gotten to second base with every morning commuting Korean that rides the Number 2 line. It's quite satisfying if you think about it. I've been groped, squeezed, pushed, breathed on..and if I'm lucky, perspired on. But as I'm standing there holding my work bag and my gym bag, I slowly turn my head only to find in front of my eyes a mole. A mole with a hair. A long wiry hair seemingly growing from the mole as I look at it, almost begging for me to just pluck it out. It's probably a good thing I couldn't reach my eyebrow, otherwise I would have lawn-mowed it away in one clean swipe.
Despite my persistent complaints, I have plenty to be thankful for. I work with some amazing people. People that make me want to glue back those wasted eyebrows and erase any signs of my having complained for being in another country. One more month and my services here at this academy will be complete. One more week after that and I'll be back home in the United States. With a pair of luscious eyebrows.
I looked in the mirror the other day to find that a portion of my right eyebrow was lacking in hairs, almost as if I had taken a piece of scotch tape, taped it to the corner of my brow and haphazardly ripped it off. But it's not a case of the phantom eyebrow that gradually disappears until I wake up to find a bare brow. I know why the hairs are missing...thus making it all the more pathetic that I haven't found any measures to stop it.
Everyone has his or her way of relieving stress: blowing air out, wringing hands, twisting hair. I rub my eyebrows. Rub them to satisfaction until the individual hairs land on my shirt. Sometimes I place one index finger on one brow and my thumb on the other and then slowly bring my fingers together and apart. Other times I put one index finger on each brow and lightly scratch as if there were mosquito bites beneath my brows. I don't know why I do it. It just happens; just like biting ones nails...only a little...cleaner. Kind of.
I don't know what would be worse. Having a single uni-brow traveling the length of my forehead or two half brows acting as the visible artifacts of my stress. Either way, my patchy brow has now become the symbol of all things bad that have happened here in Korea. As much as I would love to love my students and love to love my daily commute, it is hard. And I have the missing eyebrows to prove it!
The other day I was riding in a crowded subway, body parts mashed together and face in someone's hair (luckily, I happen to be above average in height, so I can usually escape the face in the armpits). Basically, within these close comforts, I have gotten to second base with every morning commuting Korean that rides the Number 2 line. It's quite satisfying if you think about it. I've been groped, squeezed, pushed, breathed on..and if I'm lucky, perspired on. But as I'm standing there holding my work bag and my gym bag, I slowly turn my head only to find in front of my eyes a mole. A mole with a hair. A long wiry hair seemingly growing from the mole as I look at it, almost begging for me to just pluck it out. It's probably a good thing I couldn't reach my eyebrow, otherwise I would have lawn-mowed it away in one clean swipe.
Despite my persistent complaints, I have plenty to be thankful for. I work with some amazing people. People that make me want to glue back those wasted eyebrows and erase any signs of my having complained for being in another country. One more month and my services here at this academy will be complete. One more week after that and I'll be back home in the United States. With a pair of luscious eyebrows.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
I feel pretty
"It must be nice to be pretty like a girl."
Says my uncle.
Over dinner.
What am I supposed to say to that? "Thanks. I try really hard to keep my skin clean and legs smooth. It's tough but that's the price you have to pay to look beautiful, right?"
If anyone had said this to me in the United States, it would have given me reason to karate chop that person on the back of the neck. But here, it's a compliment from uncle who says that must make me really popular at my academy. As much as I would like to believe that my looks alone have kept my students returning to class day after day, I really hope they don't look at me and think "What a pretty girl. Coulda done Audrey Hepburn proud."
The Korean standards of beauty have been a source of entertainment, intrigue, and confusion for me these past four weeks. Men with perms and eyelid surgery. Women with...more perms and eyelid surgery. Men in tight clothes. Women in silly hats. Men in silly hats. It's not actually quite as jarring as I would have hoped, but it is quite a sight to see all these men standing naked in front of a vanity "bar" of sorts in the locker room blow drying, moisturizing, and post-work out re-accessorizing. And when I say "sight," I mean that I kind of feel sorry for these people who feel like they have to be a certain image every single second they are visible to the eyes of other Koreans. As much as I would like to raise my head in disdain at these pathetic, materialistic mutants of brand merchandizing, I too have now become more conscious of what I need and should wear to and from the gym.
But it's the price we all pay to be pretty, no? And evidently, being pretty means you're popular AND you have lots of money (as some of my students would put it).
Then a pretty lady I shall be.
I'm off to get some beauty rest for my upcoming week.
******
Thank you to my wonderful cohorts in karaoke this past Saturday. And thank you for having the good sense not to get plastered at a dinner with co-workers.
Says my uncle.
Over dinner.
What am I supposed to say to that? "Thanks. I try really hard to keep my skin clean and legs smooth. It's tough but that's the price you have to pay to look beautiful, right?"
If anyone had said this to me in the United States, it would have given me reason to karate chop that person on the back of the neck. But here, it's a compliment from uncle who says that must make me really popular at my academy. As much as I would like to believe that my looks alone have kept my students returning to class day after day, I really hope they don't look at me and think "What a pretty girl. Coulda done Audrey Hepburn proud."
The Korean standards of beauty have been a source of entertainment, intrigue, and confusion for me these past four weeks. Men with perms and eyelid surgery. Women with...more perms and eyelid surgery. Men in tight clothes. Women in silly hats. Men in silly hats. It's not actually quite as jarring as I would have hoped, but it is quite a sight to see all these men standing naked in front of a vanity "bar" of sorts in the locker room blow drying, moisturizing, and post-work out re-accessorizing. And when I say "sight," I mean that I kind of feel sorry for these people who feel like they have to be a certain image every single second they are visible to the eyes of other Koreans. As much as I would like to raise my head in disdain at these pathetic, materialistic mutants of brand merchandizing, I too have now become more conscious of what I need and should wear to and from the gym.
But it's the price we all pay to be pretty, no? And evidently, being pretty means you're popular AND you have lots of money (as some of my students would put it).
Then a pretty lady I shall be.
I'm off to get some beauty rest for my upcoming week.
******
Thank you to my wonderful cohorts in karaoke this past Saturday. And thank you for having the good sense not to get plastered at a dinner with co-workers.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
10 out of 10
Mary Roach. You have officially been bested.
Although your heart-wrenching rendition of Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move" earned you a self-professed 8 out of 10 and the undying admiration of a handful of college students, the events from the previous night have out done your vocal eccentricities and forced hand motions. And if you can believe it, even your zipper-laden white pants.
Hoyah and co. made its trek out to Hongdae for the once-a-month "Club Night." As trashy and juvenile as that sounds, somehow everything is better when it involves an arm bracelet worthy of Six Flags and a free drink--all for approximately $15! The festivites began well before the taxi ride to Hongdae with gallons of soju from a watermelon. Cheers to Hae Jin on another year alive on this wonderful planet and to plans for greatness in the world of dentistry. A twenty minute cab ride later, we find ourselves at our first club, NB. I have no idea what that stands for nor do I have any idea how the letters "NB" relate to any type of dancing, hip-hop, or any good times in general. All I can say is that although the club was packed and the people weren't really dancing (rather just swaying from side to side to the beat of the music), a passable dance remix of "Best of My Love" by the Emotions immediately set the tone for what would be the best night out that 15 dollars could buy.
But how could a minute's worth of the Emotions trump the infamous hands-to-the-hip done so elegantly by Ms. Roach, you ask? The fun certainly did not end there. We stumbled into a random bar/club that played Chumbawumba, "Come on Eileen," and MMMBop. MMMBop! I would ask the rhetorical question, "Did somebody get the memo to play ultimate DP music?" but this time I am absolutely positive that there was no memo to be sent! It's as if this cheap adhesive bracelet that I paid $15 dollars for knew that I needed this music. Music that you could only shamelessly dance to drunk or alone in your bedroom. There will be many more fun times to be had at this joint. An 11 out of 10, perhaps? I don't even know if I can go there.
******
In other news, I witnessed my first Korean verbal cat-fight. On one side: woman with absurdly abrasive voice who had decided to park her car on my grandmother's lot. The other side: my grandmother. All I can say is that it...was...amazing. Screw MLK's "I have a dream" or JFKs...um...whatever it was called. Students should be required to study the rhetoric of cat-fights. Prospective thesis project anyone?
Although your heart-wrenching rendition of Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move" earned you a self-professed 8 out of 10 and the undying admiration of a handful of college students, the events from the previous night have out done your vocal eccentricities and forced hand motions. And if you can believe it, even your zipper-laden white pants.
Hoyah and co. made its trek out to Hongdae for the once-a-month "Club Night." As trashy and juvenile as that sounds, somehow everything is better when it involves an arm bracelet worthy of Six Flags and a free drink--all for approximately $15! The festivites began well before the taxi ride to Hongdae with gallons of soju from a watermelon. Cheers to Hae Jin on another year alive on this wonderful planet and to plans for greatness in the world of dentistry. A twenty minute cab ride later, we find ourselves at our first club, NB. I have no idea what that stands for nor do I have any idea how the letters "NB" relate to any type of dancing, hip-hop, or any good times in general. All I can say is that although the club was packed and the people weren't really dancing (rather just swaying from side to side to the beat of the music), a passable dance remix of "Best of My Love" by the Emotions immediately set the tone for what would be the best night out that 15 dollars could buy.
But how could a minute's worth of the Emotions trump the infamous hands-to-the-hip done so elegantly by Ms. Roach, you ask? The fun certainly did not end there. We stumbled into a random bar/club that played
******
In other news, I witnessed my first Korean verbal cat-fight. On one side: woman with absurdly abrasive voice who had decided to park her car on my grandmother's lot. The other side: my grandmother. All I can say is that it...was...amazing. Screw MLK's "I have a dream" or JFKs...um...whatever it was called. Students should be required to study the rhetoric of cat-fights. Prospective thesis project anyone?
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Let's talk about sex, baby
Actually, let's not just talk about it. Let's watch it, gossip about it, laugh about it, and be seventh graders about it. Not even an even an Amherst degree can keep me from chuckling whenever I hear the word "nuts." What can I say? It's funny. It's TABOO!!! (speaking of which, I'm dying to play that game with someone right now, here in Korea).
But that's just the thing. Sex is so taboo and yet in the US it is EVERYWHERE. And what better place to get your night full of innuendos than the good ole television. When people slam doors and cry tears and point fingers at the opposite sex, it's because he or she slept with someone, gave an STD to someone, or *gasp* got someone pregnant!!! These tried and true plot mechanisms are so cliche and yet we tune in season after season, show after show to see who's sleeping with who and who's daddy is the actual baby's daddy. When people in Korean television shows slam doors and cry tears, it's because of....something else. Lies, perhaps. Or maybe even *gasp* bribery! Like I said...it's something else; my Korean's not so good, but trust you me, it's not because of any sexual misadventures.
Come on, Korea! We need you to broadcast things on weekly dramas that create a sense of escape, a detachment from reality. What are the chances that you'll be in a group of some of the most prominent surgeons in the world who sleep with each other, give STDs to each other, AAAAND coin nicknames starting with "Mc." It's just not fair! But it isn't real life. This is TV. Korean TV is not TV. It is what we see everyday with our parents and dare we say it, our grandparents. No more tears please, unless you've just hooked up with your best friend who's had a crush on you for ages and has now moved onto a sexy ethnically ambiguous vixen.
I know this is very immature of me and I'm sure some of you are going to roll your eyes and remind of how much a prude I really am. But sexual innuendos ARE FUNNY! And I can't say a single one in Korean! I walk by a clothing store on my way to the gym called "le coq sportif" and yes, you got it, I give a little chuckle every time I walk by. Sexual innuendos are my cigarettes; they're my "harmless" (as some of you may call it) way of being bad. And they don't cost a thing...except for perhaps a bit of my dignity. And I am not about to start smoking.
* Getting ready to tear up Hongdae with my dear friends from Hoyah Academy this Friday. Felix cumpleanos, querido Hae Jin!
But that's just the thing. Sex is so taboo and yet in the US it is EVERYWHERE. And what better place to get your night full of innuendos than the good ole television. When people slam doors and cry tears and point fingers at the opposite sex, it's because he or she slept with someone, gave an STD to someone, or *gasp* got someone pregnant!!! These tried and true plot mechanisms are so cliche and yet we tune in season after season, show after show to see who's sleeping with who and who's daddy is the actual baby's daddy. When people in Korean television shows slam doors and cry tears, it's because of....something else. Lies, perhaps. Or maybe even *gasp* bribery! Like I said...it's something else; my Korean's not so good, but trust you me, it's not because of any sexual misadventures.
Come on, Korea! We need you to broadcast things on weekly dramas that create a sense of escape, a detachment from reality. What are the chances that you'll be in a group of some of the most prominent surgeons in the world who sleep with each other, give STDs to each other, AAAAND coin nicknames starting with "Mc." It's just not fair! But it isn't real life. This is TV. Korean TV is not TV. It is what we see everyday with our parents and dare we say it, our grandparents. No more tears please, unless you've just hooked up with your best friend who's had a crush on you for ages and has now moved onto a sexy ethnically ambiguous vixen.
I know this is very immature of me and I'm sure some of you are going to roll your eyes and remind of how much a prude I really am. But sexual innuendos ARE FUNNY! And I can't say a single one in Korean! I walk by a clothing store on my way to the gym called "le coq sportif" and yes, you got it, I give a little chuckle every time I walk by. Sexual innuendos are my cigarettes; they're my "harmless" (as some of you may call it) way of being bad. And they don't cost a thing...except for perhaps a bit of my dignity. And I am not about to start smoking.
* Getting ready to tear up Hongdae with my dear friends from Hoyah Academy this Friday. Felix cumpleanos, querido Hae Jin!
Saturday, June 24, 2006
I am not from mars
It's an odd thing to meet up with relatives that you've never seen before. Relatives that you didn't even know existed. And then you open the door to your grandmother's house and you see her and her daughter or daughters or sons; two or three or four more people to add to your family tree. I never thought it would be strange to meet someone that you're related to, someone who shares some small part of your genetic make-up, from a different country. But evidently, these people think I've just stepped off a spaceship from some far away land absent of any trace of ANYTHING Korean.
"Do you ever use metal chopsticks in the US?"
"Do you have Korean melons in the US?"
"Do you have rice cakes in the US?"
Or these remarks of absolute foreignness take the form of these:
"Wow, you eat kimchi so well!"
"Oh my goodness! You know how to wrap your meat with lettuce!"
Note to relatives, seen and never-before-seen: I just crossed an ocean to get here; not an entire galaxy. Also, both of my parents are indeed Korean and have not completely shed their Korean ways. Just because we have Taco Tuesdays and occasionally spaghetti on Thursdays, does NOT mean there are no more days left in the week for Korean food.
In other news, I made my first trip out to Dongdaemun and my head literally exploded from having seen too many clothes. A future blog is in store for the next time I go to Dongdaemun alone to actually buy stuff.
"Do you ever use metal chopsticks in the US?"
"Do you have Korean melons in the US?"
"Do you have rice cakes in the US?"
Or these remarks of absolute foreignness take the form of these:
"Wow, you eat kimchi so well!"
"Oh my goodness! You know how to wrap your meat with lettuce!"
Note to relatives, seen and never-before-seen: I just crossed an ocean to get here; not an entire galaxy. Also, both of my parents are indeed Korean and have not completely shed their Korean ways. Just because we have Taco Tuesdays and occasionally spaghetti on Thursdays, does NOT mean there are no more days left in the week for Korean food.
In other news, I made my first trip out to Dongdaemun and my head literally exploded from having seen too many clothes. A future blog is in store for the next time I go to Dongdaemun alone to actually buy stuff.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
I thought I could read Korean...
But it seems I can't really understand it too well. For some reason, I accidentally erased the blog post that I'd typed in a couple days ago. It was pretty darn good, to0, so I apologize, everyone. I don't know...I clicked something and then proceeded to click "yes" until "poof!" My blog turned from 4 posts to 3. So for lack of time and for fear of losing yet another blog post, here are some recent musings and observations:
1) Men get PERMS! One of my students admitted to having his hair permed regularly (so that's how their hair stays curly!).
2) Europeans in Korean clubs still smell like Europeans in any other club.
3) I kind of need my own apartment...or atleast a little nook to call my own and have "me" time.
4) One of my students called my hair "mohican-style."
5) California WOW is...wow-inducing in both good and bad ways.
6) My legs are REALLY hairy; Colin where are you when I need you most!
7) I need a cheeseburger.
8) Soju is definitely better straight up.
Once I buy a camera cord, you all will be able to see my adventures thus far (not much, don't worry). Your postcards are in transit...to being in transit. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen.
1) Men get PERMS! One of my students admitted to having his hair permed regularly (so that's how their hair stays curly!).
2) Europeans in Korean clubs still smell like Europeans in any other club.
3) I kind of need my own apartment...or atleast a little nook to call my own and have "me" time.
4) One of my students called my hair "mohican-style."
5) California WOW is...wow-inducing in both good and bad ways.
6) My legs are REALLY hairy; Colin where are you when I need you most!
7) I need a cheeseburger.
8) Soju is definitely better straight up.
Once I buy a camera cord, you all will be able to see my adventures thus far (not much, don't worry). Your postcards are in transit...to being in transit. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
And then she laughed in my face
I suppose it was about time. Ever since I've stepped foot on the streets of Seoul, I must confess that I too have been snickering to myself. Snickering at the ways of these people across the great Pacific, their hair, their makeup, their inability to pronounce the letter "f." It's quite satisfying to walk around knowing that I possess the linguistic skills that they would all kill for! Oh to covet the ways of the American!!!!
And then it happened. I know my Korean isn't great. But I didn't realize it was THAT bad. My relatives have been fairly patient with me even though I literally make up words and sprinkle every sentence with "ummm" and "errr" and sideways glances. But to think that a complete stranger would laugh (mouth covered of course) in my face! I had merely gone to a nearby gym--not California WOW, of which I will soon be a patron--to ask if they had spinning. And when the receptionist looked back at me in complete confusion, I proceeded to explain what spinning was in Korean, in what I thought was fairly coherent and grammatically correct Korean. The look of utter confusion explodes into full blown, hand-covered laughter as she tells me she can't understand what I'm saying because of my American accent.
How am I supposed to talk to anyone in Korean ever again? This woman at Amazon Fitness has created in me another reason to be self-conscious. Isn't it bad enough that my hairy legs have already been gasped at and that I don't have the cool/yucky haircut???
I'll just have to take my American-sensibilities to California WOW...where I will proceed to spin my troubles away.
Your postcards will be in transit shortly. I apologize for the delay, my friends.
And then it happened. I know my Korean isn't great. But I didn't realize it was THAT bad. My relatives have been fairly patient with me even though I literally make up words and sprinkle every sentence with "ummm" and "errr" and sideways glances. But to think that a complete stranger would laugh (mouth covered of course) in my face! I had merely gone to a nearby gym--not California WOW, of which I will soon be a patron--to ask if they had spinning. And when the receptionist looked back at me in complete confusion, I proceeded to explain what spinning was in Korean, in what I thought was fairly coherent and grammatically correct Korean. The look of utter confusion explodes into full blown, hand-covered laughter as she tells me she can't understand what I'm saying because of my American accent.
How am I supposed to talk to anyone in Korean ever again? This woman at Amazon Fitness has created in me another reason to be self-conscious. Isn't it bad enough that my hairy legs have already been gasped at and that I don't have the cool/yucky haircut???
I'll just have to take my American-sensibilities to California WOW...where I will proceed to spin my troubles away.
Your postcards will be in transit shortly. I apologize for the delay, my friends.
Monday, June 05, 2006
A series of unfortunate events
Ok, first I must say that everything on this site is in Korean and only through an arduous trial and error process have I made it here to update. I'm such a pathetic Korean...don't even know my own language. So yes, I've arrived and am now sitting in an internet cafe typing to my heart's content. And while I realize how blessed I am to be sitting here in another country with a job, there have been some not-so-great moments that I must now elaborate...
1) Only ONE hot towel on the plane. What gives Korean Air??
2) After taking an Advil PM (NOT dramamine as I had mentioned earlier--my bad), I proceeded to fall asleep ONLY to wake up but a mere 2 hours later. 2 HOURS!!! And on top of that, I woke up in the middle of Failure to Launch. Now I'm never going to know what happened to Sarah and Matthew in the first of that dreadful movie.
3) The sky here is GRAY!!!! And the air is really awful. I miss Amherst and its beautiful blue sky.
4) Staying with my grandma has been a little more difficult than I had expected. It's great that she wants to see me and take care of me, but today when explaining to another one of my relatives why I couldn't come visit, she flat out lied about my whereabouts to make it seem like I was to blame for not being to visit. Way to be, Grandma.
5) My breath really stinks. Now I know why Asian girls cover their mouths when they laugh. Why does Korean food have to be so spicy and smelly? I need some curiously strong mints, NOW!
No more complaining. I miss Texas and Amherst and Ultimate DPs and Valentine breakfast food. (that doesn't count as complaining does it?) And can someone tell me how to put pictures up here?
1) Only ONE hot towel on the plane. What gives Korean Air??
2) After taking an Advil PM (NOT dramamine as I had mentioned earlier--my bad), I proceeded to fall asleep ONLY to wake up but a mere 2 hours later. 2 HOURS!!! And on top of that, I woke up in the middle of Failure to Launch. Now I'm never going to know what happened to Sarah and Matthew in the first of that dreadful movie.
3) The sky here is GRAY!!!! And the air is really awful. I miss Amherst and its beautiful blue sky.
4) Staying with my grandma has been a little more difficult than I had expected. It's great that she wants to see me and take care of me, but today when explaining to another one of my relatives why I couldn't come visit, she flat out lied about my whereabouts to make it seem like I was to blame for not being to visit. Way to be, Grandma.
5) My breath really stinks. Now I know why Asian girls cover their mouths when they laugh. Why does Korean food have to be so spicy and smelly? I need some curiously strong mints, NOW!
No more complaining. I miss Texas and Amherst and Ultimate DPs and Valentine breakfast food. (that doesn't count as complaining does it?) And can someone tell me how to put pictures up here?
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
I hate packing
I really do. I hate it with every ounce of my body and soul. I think it's the one thing that I can't boil down to some concrete method--like I do with dish-washing. First you do the plates, then the bowls, then the silverware, and depending on the kitchen set-up, you can scrub the dishes and place them into the adjacent sink to rinse later or do it all in one sink while the faucet's running. But for some reason my mind goes completely insane when I pack. I'll pack some clothes, walk around my room, go to the living room to get something, forget what I went to the living room for, go back to my room, remember what I needed, get sidetracked by a trip to the kitchen, and then I pick up some socks and then place them back down because I don't know what to do with them.
In any case, I'm leaving in exactly 12 hours for Seoul, Korea (that's SOUTH Korea; I can't believe a certain someone had the nerve to ask if I was going to North or South Korea--idiot). I wish I had a picture or something to share but the only image of me at this moment would be me shirtless wishing there was a fan blowing air on me. Texas is so darn hot. I promise to update this thing diligently (I was quite the xanga protege) and you all besta comment. By the way, does anyone know a good site I can use to upload pictures?
So off I go with my paperpack Da Vinci Code, Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs, iPod, and dramamine. Oh! And did I mention that I did a little shoe shopping?? I finally have some white bucks and some silver pumas. They're glorious!!!
I can't wait for the hot towels they give out on the plane...
In any case, I'm leaving in exactly 12 hours for Seoul, Korea (that's SOUTH Korea; I can't believe a certain someone had the nerve to ask if I was going to North or South Korea--idiot). I wish I had a picture or something to share but the only image of me at this moment would be me shirtless wishing there was a fan blowing air on me. Texas is so darn hot. I promise to update this thing diligently (I was quite the xanga protege) and you all besta comment. By the way, does anyone know a good site I can use to upload pictures?
So off I go with my paperpack Da Vinci Code, Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs, iPod, and dramamine. Oh! And did I mention that I did a little shoe shopping?? I finally have some white bucks and some silver pumas. They're glorious!!!
I can't wait for the hot towels they give out on the plane...
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