Drag Queens, Drama Queens, and an Unbearable Cold

The stars must not have been aligned correctly for this. If I had gone to see one of those fortune tellers in Korea, she probably would have told me NOT to travel in March. It probably wasn't meant to be and perhaps I could have found a wife back home in Dallas. Nonetheless, I ignored the signs, took them as challenges, and made my way to the Spanish gateway to the rest of Europe.

I started with 4 tickets to see the Scissor Sisters in Dallas the night before my departure to NYC. A 4th could not be found, the 3rd had a death in the family, and the 2nd had a last minute cancellation. And the cheese stood alone. So dilemma #1: should I stay or should I go...to the Scissor Sisters? A day spent desperately trying to sell my tickets on craigslist left me with a suitcase to pack and many things still left to buy. Guess who decided to get in the middle of a drag queen sandwich instead of getting a good night's sleep? Ok, so it wasn't a drag queen SANDWICH but some of them got awfully close while trying to get to the front of the stage. I never understood the appeal there. Is there NOT supposed to be appeal? Is that the irony? I have enough trouble worrying about my mohawk on a windy day.

GRIPS?? As in, grips it and doesn't let go? A blessing in disguise, my flight was cancelled and I spent the day catching up on errands. Errands I had somehow created in preparation for my trip to Spain. This was supposed to be my bout of spontaneity. Spontaneous people don't obsess over which guide book to buy, which shoes to bring, and which ties are necessary for a night out. I also had a slight panic attack after reading the deluge of websites warning of gypsies and pickpockets. No drag...just a lot of drama. Unnecessary drama.

3 days with no sleep, a winter storm, and I end up on my Swissair flight as the SICK one. I DESPISE the sick one. The guy who fidgets in his seat and coughs into his hand. Yeah, some good that does in covering up the germs. That flight was just an incubator for my grossness. Travellers to Zurich, Switzerland, please accept my apologies. And now I sit and flood my insides with hot water at night. I need to get better for this weekend. A swedish guy just moved in and he's really into "house". DEEP house. And he says it just like Arnold Schwarz. I love it.

Pictures soon!

The OTHER other white meat

I never really had a problem with spam. That is, until I publicly professed my love for it and became the object of disdain among my peers circa high school. Was it because spam was "allegedly" meat from a can? Well I always considered it a step up from the equally delectable Vienna sausages. And the Viennese have good taste, no? Afterall, Mozart's from Vienna.

Whatever the reason, I came to hate spam. I hated the idea of spam and the fact that you had to blot cooked spam with paper towels before even THINKING about touching it with a fork. But coming back to Korea, I've realized that I never stopped loving the smell of it and of course...the taste of it.

It's a funny thing, spam. An offshoot of ham, perhaps, but "sp"? What gives? Do those letters stand for "special"? "Spanish"? "Sparkling"? I suppose I could always just look at the ingredients list on the can, but I think it's better not to know, kind of like a hot dog weiner. And I also never knew how it could be prepared as displayed on the label. My mom always just sliced it up and put it in the frying pan (note the above procedure of paper towel blotting). Spam definitely wasn't prime rib in the Park house, but it was substantial. I think it makes quite a swell companion to white rice. Then again, what doesn't.

On the Lunar New Year, it's customary for businesses to give their employees some sort of gift. I saw men in business suits taking home boxes of juice, others with fruit. We at Hoyah Academy received gourmet olive oil. And of course, there were businessmen with boxes of spam. Decorative boxes. With handles. That included multiple cans of spam.

Nobody frowns upon spam here in Korea. Again, it's no prime rib, but it's not the laughing stock of the "so-called" meats. Nobody cares that it's not kosher, and quite frankly, I don't even think anyone cares that spam is an amalgam of....well, I guess nobody really knows the answer to that. Spam is just spam, and the Koreans let it be.

I don't think my taste buds have danced so happily in quite some time. My aunt prepares fried spam for me every now and then. I think it's because they have a spam gift set and no one else in the family cares too much for it. Could it be that I'm enjoying the spam for old time's sake? I guess I'll just have to find out come 20 years or so from now. Anyone care to join me? I'll supply the paper towels.

Third time's...an explosion

I don't find explosions quite charming. So no. Third time certainly would not be a charm. Allow me to back track a bit.

I walked into my kitchen to find once again, and to much alarm, the gas switch turned on. At least, I THINK that's the on position. I cook so rarely in the apartment that I don't even remember what is on and off for the little knob. But I'm pretty sure it's in the on position, my stomach does a couple somersaults, and then I quickly open up the windows. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time this has happened. It happened near the beginning of my stay here in Seoul as a one-room attendant. That's a "studio" apartment for those of you who are not familiar with korean lingo--which would mean most all of you. I've grown up my entire life with electric stoves, and so the idea that the energy input isn't TRULY off until you switch off that second gas switch is just completely foreign to me.

The first time I realized the switch was left on all night, it was right before I was about to prepare another batch of ramen noodles. Imagine that. In that split second, I could have been blown to bits alongside my freeze dried noodles.

"All they found of him were his flannel pajamas and ramen."

And believe me, I've been on Backdraft the Ride at Universal Studios, so I know the protocall when you're surrounded by flames. I think the floor falls out from under you too.

Imagine if my legacy had been as that one TOEFL teacher who blew up in his own studio apartment because he left the gas switch on. I've since abandoned the stove almost completely and resorted to eating out.

I have two more weeks here in Korea. One more week of teaching and then one more week of...nothing. I may cut that last week down so I can rest a bit in the States, binge on tex-mex, perhaps take a week of the Master Cleanse, and then catch the Scissor Sisters in Dallas. All before I head off to the Big Apple and the Apple of Cataluna, aka Barcelona.

I'm not about to let another foolish mistake keep me from making to the other side of the world. If I do leave the switch on again, and my apartment does blow up, just like it has in my lethal imagination, rest assured my ass will make it back West.

My heart belongs in...

BARCELONA.


It's official, ladies and gentlemen.

Come March 20th, I will be swimming in paella and drowning my solitude in cafe con leche. It's an odd feeling to be here in Korea and be purchasing a ticket to a destination on the other side of the world. Call it wanderlust. Call it boredom.


Whatever it is...

I've finally crossed something off my life list.

Quiz Show

I've been quite disappointed with Korean television. Every morning I wake up hoping to catch something uplifting and the only comprehensible program I can find is Sesame Street or a random movie on the movie channel. One morning it was Secretary. Another morning, Blade III. It's just a grab bag of good or bad movies in that short time frame between just-woke-up and I'm-late-for-work. When I return home at night it's either a thrilling night of Deal or No Deal, 1 vs. 100 or if I'm lucky I can rinse my tear ducts with an old episode of the Biggest Loser. As for Korean programming, I usually sit there, unaffected by men with bad haircuts and women who really do look the same. It's not just a Caucasian affliction! We really DO look the same!

There is, however, one program. I don't know when it comes on; it's just happens to come up on the weekends when I sit down with my scrupulously prepared ramen noodles. It's a game show of sorts except the contestants aren't money-grubbing, ass-bearing, aspiring actors; they're middle-schoolers. SMART middle-schoolers. At least the ones left at the end are smart. Kids sit in a grid on the floor and a woman with a pleasing voice calls out questions. Then the students write their answers on their dry-erase boards and hold them up in anticipation of the correct answer. I recall playing a game similar to this. It was called school.

In between certain rounds, the students clear the floor and the teachers of the respective schools and have a competition of their own: jump rope competitions, lip-syncing competitions, who-can-dance-better-in-drag competitions. It's all a big pep rally for...academics. The ousted students cheer on their peers who are left on the grid and eventually the floor clears out save for just one lone student and his/her dry-erase board. I think the point of the game is to get to the final question and answer that correctly, but I've never seen a student reach that level before. The student usually falls just shy of that last question, tears are usually involved, and all of the students surround their champion and console him or her.

Although most of my students lament the extraordinarily strict and rigorous Korean school system, it seems kind of nice that this type of thing is nationally televised in Korea. I've never been on television for playing my clarinet and I certainly didn't get any recognition for my short-lived career as a top UIL speller. My parents never really set me on the track for any sort of televised career. If they had, I'd probably be working out right now instead of releasing meaningless verbal diarrhea onto the world wide web.

Hey you

I haven't forgotten. In fact, I think about ye old blogger almost everyday. Somehow I just can't bring myself to raise my hands to the keyboard and type away to my heart's content. That and a New York Times contributor recently referred to blogging as verbal diarrhea. I must admit, it did make me think twice about complaining about Korea....again.

But you know what? I don't care what a "New York Times" contributor has to say. I just had my first sick day with a bad case of flu/constipation/I-don't-know-what last week and now conjunctivitus has nestled itself nicely into my left eye. If it's diarrhea I have, then by all means, let the verbal diarrhea flow. (that was gross, I know, but I'm not deleting it).

I forgot my USB camera chord once again at my home in Dallas, so pictures won't be in order this time around, unless I can find a relatively cheap USB chord. Dear readers, I like to think that my health is returning and I haven't been pushed under a rock a la LSAT--which by the way, the more I read about Berkeley's law school, the more I want to go.

I hope the USA has been treating you all well. I think of you guys daily while eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and engrossing myself in an episode of Arrested Development.

I promise to complain as much as I can. So much so, that soon enough, all the titles under my "Previous Posts" section will be blog posts written here in Seoul.

See you all real soon.

A House is Not a Home

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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...

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.