If you can't say anything nice....

Over the weekend my illustrious principal fell off her bike and broke her ribs. She's now bed ridden.

Huh.

Christ Damn Shit, I'm a class act

Today was the last day of proper school, as opposed to the next three weeks when I have to go in and entertain the masses in what has been cruely titled as 'camp'. I just imagine when I tell my students about camping in Canada's wilderness they picture me sitting on a moose rectiting irregular verbs.

Being the last day there was a meeting where I was expected to give a parting speech. Everyone imagines if they were to win an Oscar or Grammy or, god forbid, a Golden Globe they would take the opportunity to tell those who deserve it what they really think. The whole world is watching and you've earned this moment to speak. I don't even have to give an example, you were reciting your prepared hate speech in your head when I mentioned 'microphone'. Note: I never wrote 'microphone', you were just that ready. I think they showed this video in minimum wage sex ed to illustrate an workgasm.

But not today, friends. Complete class. I thanked the country (true), I thanked the city (true), I thanked the staff (true), I applauded my co-teachers (very true). Then I broke the third Commandment. Or is it the eighth? Fifth? What am I, a rabbi? The point is lied and expressed sincere gratitude to my principal. Bowed low down and everything. The strange thing (as opposed to the dirty soul thing) was my principal smiled and nodded. Absolutely no humility, especially since she's been principal for less than a year of my 2.5 years at the school. But bridges are better left unburnt. I have returned to one job back home a total of five times (seriously), always there to pay the bills when I lose my rent on a hooker's coke mounded ass and you never know when the wrong people will come to your mound of coke on a hooker's ass party and you have to run back to Korea*. Full of class, I am. Because, at the end of the day she could have made my life worse. The grass is always greener, but only because most of our neighbours have no grass at all.

God, I'm wonderful.

*By 'coke' I of course mean 'coca cola'. And by 'ass' I of course mean 'donkey. And by 'hooker' I of course mean 'woman who sells her sexual services to men for money'. Duh.

Music makes the bourgeoisie and the rebel come together (as long as there is an adequate police presence)

I won't bore anyone with the debate about whether or not there is good and bad music. Because, frankly, there is. A good beat makes good music in the purest sense, in the sense my mammoth fur clothed ancestors would have understood. In the midst of a fertility ritual there was no need for explanation of the existential meaning of the prolonged saber-tooth-tiger-teeth-on-the-xylophone solo. You just got up and jumped around like, well, like a caveman. There was nothing to 'get'. Music was created as a way to communicate through tribes, languages, religions, sects, sects and more sects, and even species. It really is only in recent human development that music took on more meaning. Now if you don't 'get it' you aren't 'in' 'it'. 'It' being 'cool' or 'hip' or 'twitter' or whatever the kids say now. Frankly, the whole thing confuses and scares me. I would say my mom says I'm cool but she reads this blog only to discover new ways in which I am not, nor was I ever, considered cool.

Anyone who has lived through teen aged years in North America knows that your worth is heavily weighed in what music you like. "What do you listen to" has surpassed "How's it going" and "Me love you long time" as traditional teenage greetings. "Everything" is akin to "Agnostic" as an answer. Just declare a side, you hippie. You're expected to say "...."..... Ok, I have no idea what teens these days listen to. In my day, you were supposed to say anything from Green Day to Tool to NWA for boys, or Alanis to, well, Green Day and Tool for girls. One thing that always struck me was guys aren't supposed to like girl acts. To me, women suit the music industry so much more, historically and otherwise. Growing up in suburban Ontario my favourite acts were Nine Inch Nails (acceptable), Bowie (Who?...sadly), anyone on MoTown, especially MJ (hahahaha...seriously?), Beck (FAG!) and Bjork (ok, now you're just messing with us).

MoTown always brought me closer to everyone in my family. As you might know, we were the Arabic/Slav wing of the movement. Ahem. Cough. Anyway, NIN (picture that second N backwards for maximum subversiveness) quickly and thoroughly distanced me from the people in my house along with society. More so, anyway. If you combined my sisters' and my music you would come away with the the past twenty years of the world music awards, so they sort of understood. My second older sister famously quoted "Most of this crap just sounds like noise. But this is noise I can dance to, so I like it." But my father heard "God is dead and no one cares! If there is a hell I'll see you there!" and quickly called a top psychologist. Silly Dad. It'll take a team of psychologists.

And so on. My parents actually liked music in the true sense as I mentioned above. They liked a good beat where ever it emerged. My dad was actually in a band as a teen, though the only proof of this I have are pictures and the lingering violent mood swings. My mom was a go go girl. Blond hair down to her ass, mini skirt, platforms taller than your average toddler. No matter her position in the Polaroid her drink was always 90 degrees to the horizon. If nothing else, I share my mother's curious lack of drink spillage in the face of our hereditary inner ear problem.

But imagine my horror when in between NIN songs I put on Bowie in my bedroom and my mother burst in dancing along (no, the horror was not masturbatory related...for once). I actually vividly remember the scene. Suffragette city. November 14th. 1995. *shiver*

This isn't nearly as ridiculous as the fact that, even as well-adjusted (or faking to be well-adjusted) adults we still subscribe to the notion that there is music we're supposed to like and music we're not supposed to like. Recently I bought a new MP3 player and had to load it up with new music. In a completely legal and ethical way, cough sneeze burp, I downloaded new music to fill 'er up. A couple of songs by Mylie Minogue. Well, I lived in Europe for a bit so you Yanks just don't get it. Eminem. This one is weird. Around some guys it's expected. Other guys and most gals this is reprehensible. You have to be careful. Marilyn Mason. Antichrist Superstar is a great album, and passing it up on account of his persona or the title is a loss to you. Madonna. Oh, where do I begin that 30 year old men aren't allowed to listen to the Material Girl? Bed Time Story has always been my favourite song of hers, and I recently found out Bjork wrote it so that allows me to have it on the player. Lady Gaga? Well, ummmm, she's named after Queen. I can claim confusion on account of the name

But then we come to Brittany. Spears, for those who recently hit their heads on buses. Womanizer in particular (actually, seriously, this is the only one, though Toxic could be great if dealt with better). I like the beat. I first heard it in a bar and couldn't hear her voice and, though I may have been under the influence of, errr, life, I professed my love for the beat. Friends shook their heads, frowned, punched me in the private parts. How dare I like the #1 problem with modern music?! But you know, I went home and listened to it and her voice only added to the allure. It suits it perfectly in my opinion. It's far from a perfect song, don't get me wrong. But this song by any other name probably wouldn't be as hated. Sometimes I listen to it at home, including tonight proudly. And by proudly I mean in my earphones on half volume so if my phone accidentally opens and randomly dials a number the person on the other line won't hear it.

Where else do we allow ourselves to live by these ridiculous rules? Not only can we watch bad movies, but now we have parties to celebrate the occasion. I regularly wear a normal shirt and tie to work with no backlash from the masses, and on nights out will combine absurdly clashing prints with a random bandanna around my head a la karate kid for affect, yet any mention of it is stifled under Don't ask/Don't tell (or the like). It seems like you can express yourself in any way except through music these days, which is the antithesis to music as an art form to begin with. Music should bring people together, not set them apart. And let's face it, there are only a few set beats in our comprehension. It's like boobies. Oh, it's disgusting that this pop star shows her boobs. Yeah, but they're boobs. Everyone loves boobies. Some are better than others, but to shut out a complete set of boobs is simply limiting yourself.

We like to pretend that music makes us different, it sets us apart and declares our true personality. But I refuse to put Brittany on my player for fear the nameless jerk hogging the armrest on the plane might notice her name come up on the 3 inch device. This coming from a guy who, in a high school class with a punk-rock teacher who I got along famously with, did a project on Cyndi Lauper just to mix things up (he almost failed me based on my artist choice, just to confirm my point). But as long as I refuse the most mainstream branches of my musical tree I will know nothing I listen to defines me. So, in a weird way, every time I listen to bootlegged experimental music from Turkmenistan I will know that I am not nearly as cutting edge as I want to be because I refuse to accept my admiration of Brittany Spears.

Isn't it ironic. Don't you think? It's like rain on your wedding day (which, incidentally isn't ironic at all, which you would know if you spent any time in a Canadian English class in 1990s Canada). The point is, unless you accept all of yourself you can never truly accept any part of yourself.

The Dali Lama ain't got shit on me.

Thrill the world

"A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while."
-Don McLean

When travelling the world you realize there are words that have, for better or worse, transcended national boundries. Usually these are English and pretty obvious. Ok. Hello. See you. Me love you long time. You know, the usual. Sometimes other world languages sneak in there. Bon Appetite. Bon Vogage. Bravo. Basically, by other world languages I meant French. And why not? French sayings celebrate the little things in life. GOOD APPETITE! GOOD TRIP! LET US BE CELEBRATORY OF THIS EVENT THAT WE ARE WITNESSING TAKING PLACE!

But Spanish has it's place, too. Just today a teacher at my school who, to my knowledge and ears, has minimal English ability asked me if I "Siesta". Given, siesta is a cultural phenomanon that, besides its awesomemisity, can't be translated easily into any other language. You literally have to be Spanish to understand the idea of sleeping all afternoon. Let me rephrase that. You have to be Spanish to accept socially to sleep all afternoon. Ole!

And everyone knows Cheers and there's hardly ever an opportuity not to clink glasses. Even a Buddhist monk will clink his tea. The thing is, everyone wants to know how to say it in your language, in that guy's language, here try to say it in this language. It just goes to my life theory, booze will teach you everything you need to know.

I have realized this by sneaking into many of the nooks and crannies around the world. An OK in an interrogation room in China will ease your blood pressure. A bon appetite at the table of your hosts in Germany will get you an extra schnitzel. Claiming you need a siesta in Indonesia will be greeted with a sarong and space on the beach.

But there is another language out there older than our primitive grunts and screechs. I'm talking about music of course. Back when our ancestors were clubbing dinosaurs for dinner, if Sarah Palin is to be believed, they came home to boogie down to some drumming and mammoth horn blowing. In fact, shaking your booty was instrumental to early human reproduction, treaties, war and most other interactions. It's like when you're in a club and the music is so loud you can't hear anything but the current auto-tuned talentless hack thumping away. You have to act out your current mood. "I want a drink", "Your place or mine?", "No, that's not happening", "Come on, it's not like your 20 anymore", "I'll give you oral in the bathroom" and "I'M SO DRUNK!" has been communicated on dancefloors around the world through ass shakes, hand motions and head bobs every Saturday night since electricity was invented.

These days, what with globalization and MTV and McDonalds and these kids these days with their twitting and faceplaces GET OFF MY LAWN! most popular music circumvents the globe faster than FOX News turns Obama's morning teeth brushing into a Communist conspiracy. I have heard Brittany Spears, Madonna, ACDC, the Beatles, Rolling Stones and many more random (seriously random...Sir Mix-A-Lot, really?) artists all over the place. But there really is only one that I've heard in every country, every city, every hole, every street corner. It has been said many times that Michael Jackson transcended race in American pop culture. However, it can also be said the man's music was bigger than race relations in the US. Yes, bigger than Rodney King, OJ, Spike Lee and the Civil War COMBINED (not to over-state it or anything).

Buy a plane ticket to Tibet. Go ahead, expedia is a good place to start. Now go to a town square. Win over the propoganda DJ at the local town market radio station with a bunch of OKs and Cheers'. Put on Billie Jean. Watch the smiles. Go to Rome. Sit in a cafe and hear Smooth Criminal come on. Toes a tappin'. Mention Thriller to that cute Japanese girl you're hitting on in Tokyo and Yuki's hand is suddenly on your thigh. Dozens of couples have practiced the famous Thriller dance for their weddings with their friends. Cause nothing says cementing the remainder of your life with another person like dancing zombies. And let me stop right there and reflect on that. Dancing zomies. Maybe today, 27 years later, the thought of a man in a red leather suit dancing with zombies while Vincent Price laughs menacingly seems acceptable, almost normal. But in 1983 it was definitely not the norm. Given, I was a mere three years old myself, hiding behind the nearest availabe pillow at the time. I want readers under 25 to know that there was a time in society where dancing zombies were not an option, were not an internet meme, were not part of civilized society. They just were not. Not only did this win people over, it established a reluctant MTV as a force in Western culture. Who can forget the inmates at some nameless prison in the Philippines? The birthplace of Pop followed. What about Moscow? How about on the way to work on the Tube in London? Take the bus? Busy watching a football game? Playing video games? Playing with Legos? Starring in a Bollywood musical? Lording over the Empire in a Death Star? Being an anthromophic lizard? Even today thousands upon thousands of people around the world recreate this absurd and delightful dance because, screw it, dancing zombies. Let me state that again for the descesitized: DANCING ZOMBIES.

Even the Norwegian ski team does the Beat It dance at the top of a mountain in gear. Led by Stockholm the world took note.Kids in Montreal groove out. Taipei, Amsterdam, , Mexico City , , Hong Kong, , Istanbul, Bucharest, Paris, Melbourne, London, Toronto, LA, Austin, New York, Cape Town, Sydney, Delhi....oh, you get it. Half the fun is youtube linking your afternoon away.

About a year ago after receiving a text from a friend on the way to work, I arrived to my first class distracted. At break my co-teacher asked me what the problem was. "Michael Jackson died". She fell back into her seat completely stunned. As much as I didn't expect that reaction, I have to say I was even more shocked when in the next class one of the 4th graders stood up, did a twirl, grabbed his belt and yalped "Hee-hee-hee" MJ style complete with leg kick. His classmates cheered. 9 year olds in Korea. When I was introduced later that year to my new co-teacher the first thing she told me was, "I've never met a foreigner before. But they say you like Michael Jackson. I love him!" She's a mousy young Korean woman who would rather eat glass than deal with a big hairy white guy, but all I have to do is mention MJ and her hands are flying, voice raised, eyes wide open. I'd be lying if I didn't say a few meetings of ours haven't ended in dance parties. And other Korean teachers hear the music and moonwalk (to the best of their abilities) into the room.

My fondest childhood memories are of sneaking a peek at the thriller dance on the TV with my family and having related nightmares with my sisters (the zombies were bad, but Michael's warewolf looked shockingly like our aunt's evil cat. To this day his growled "GET AWAY" sends shivers through our family's dinner table). While in University I remember walking into the local pub feeling down for some reason and being greeted by "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough". I followed Michael's advice and had a terrific night. I always remember walking in through swinging doors to that beat. Hell yeah, I'm here to party. Like a light switch. That's my life motto, and I still haven't gotten enough, and therefore haven't stopped. When I moved to Amsterdam I borrowed a Michael Jackson CD off a new friend and listened to it repeatedly as I enjoyed the city, including many of it's famous coffeeshops. Others may make you space out on pot, but Thriller beats would get us out of our seats, or at least show signs of active life. When I returned to Canada I danced to Michael Jackson at a company Christmas party with co-workers and when I refused to dance to anything else they kept the MJ coming. Here in Seoul I have endless discussions on the science behind the Smooth Criminal standing slant with my co-teacher. Many a night here have been spent in noraebangs belting out ANNIE ARE YOU OK! BEAT IT! IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER IT DON'T MATTER IF YOU'RE BLACK OR WHITE! Followed by flailing moonwalks, gratuitous crotch grabbing and more vocal hiccups than Brittany after her latest binge.

I really do believe people around the world all want the same thing. Everyone wants to have fun and where ever I end up Michael lets that happen.

And for that I just have to say: Thank you MJ.

Dancing Zombies!

politics

"Man is by nature a political animal."
-Aristotle

I have two older sisters and for our formative years we grew up in a charming flat in Montreal's most densly populated neighbourhoods. The laws of politics demands that given the limited resources of a small home, parental attention as well as chocolate chip cookies instigated conflicts among us children. Anyone with siblings knows that this ultimately results in an atmosphere of calculation and manipulation. Machiavelli may have written about the cut-throat world of Renaissance Italian politics, but it's obvious childhood rivalries were his true inspiration. In no other context can a sudden onset of a reading disability compete with the phantom symptoms of scurvy only to be topped by a suspicious van following you home from the library where you were studying for your genius level math classes that no one has been able to either confirm or deny with the school. Shakespeare has nothing on sibling rivalry.

Depending on birth order we all have various strategies that we use to ultimately get what we want. Gender and years between children also come into play. The role of victim is very useful for us youngest offspring, which is most obvious. My sisters disproving the myth of Santa, with accompanying tears and a few references to my spoilt childhood garnered me a few extra boxes under the tree for a year or two. Not to mention a nice public reprimand for my competition. Nevermind that I knew Santa and Daddy had the same aftershave since last holidays. Details, details. As the boy I was not allowed to fight back when (not 'if') I was physically attacked. However, as the boy I was the only one with the kryptonite hanging lazily between my legs. All I had to do was mention in passing that one of my sisters thought about striking my testicles in any sort of way and it was automatic corner for the offender. Family jewls, ladies. Your ovaries ain't gonna carry on the family name. And even if I wanted to (and man did I try), I couldn't punch your reproductive organs in an effort to take your cheese sandwich. And lord knows how much I wanted that cheese sandwich.

As we grow older, though, we had no choice but to find other more subtle ways to wage war. An accidental slip that your sister quit school and spends her days with her 21 year old boyfriend here, a left joint roach with lipstick there and all of a sudden your breaking curfew is at the bottom of the pile for mom and dad. Eventually my sisters and I grew to appreciate, even bond with, each other. Now I'm proud to say they are my best friends. Truth be told, even in the heat of battle we respected each other as advesaries and peers. I have to respect anyone that convinces reasonable parents that their 13 year old son is a pedophile.

Any relationship one has later in life is affected by these initial battles with your siblings. For two years I enjoyed the large subject teachers room in my school to myelf. See, all the other subject teachers were assigned their own classrooms with heating, AC and modern computers. What I gave up in climate control I gained in privacy. Classrooms in my school feature slide doors with windows along with eye-level windows along the hallway wall. Not only can those in the opposite classroom watch you like a youtube video but any and all travellers down those busy hallways have a nice 10 second movie of you as you go about your business. The subject teachers room has no such transperancy. In addition, the doorknob for this room is broken in such a way that it gives the impression of being locked unless you know specifically how to open it. And no one besides my co-teachers ever go to the effort of dislocating their wrists to open that portal to come see me. For two years I was a very happy man in my solitude.

Not now. My space has been invaded by three new teachers who, while in the same category as me as "not really anything we have to respect", still have managed to trespass on my outsider status. Whatever they're doing in my room, I don't like it. And it is obvious they have never dealt with the ruthless maneuvers of siblings because my passive aggressive open window policy to their maxed out heater is not responded to.

I just thought that at this age I would be done fighting for control of lighting with slightly older women. Again I was proven wrong, by these exact older women no less.

And people ask me why I refuse to get married. Exhibit A.

I'm the Seinfeld of Korea and my lunch is like airplane peanuts

What's the deal with Korean school lunches?

I'm going to stop there because although I know how Jerry Seinfeld famously starts his jokes, I have no idea how he ends them nor do I have the skill to do so in a way to make 1 billion people laugh and throw money at me for the better part of a decade (and then ruin it all with some movie involving bees or some such). Suffice it to say that I do not like Korean school lunches and I find them a nuisance. You may laugh now. And throw money at me if so inclined.

My school lunches typically include a vegetable, meat and a hearty soup, followed by a tasty desert. Of course that's in a Korean context so it should read; some greyish-green mush boiled to even greyer mush, fish bones (including heads with eyes) sometimes with meat accidentally still left hanging on, spicy hot water (sometimes with fish bones, heads and eyes) and a random food item that Satan himself would never consider coating with sugar with copious amounts of sugar on it. Oh, and of course rice. You know, rice is to a cook as a word search is to an English teacher. Yeah, that'll work today as I sweat off this hangover. Except no English teacher would give word searches everyday. Three times a day. For their entire lives. And then claim it cures AIDS. Don't forget kimchi, too. How could I, what with this burning ulcer. But as my latest medical check confirms, I don't have AIDS and to my knowledge I never have, so maybe kimchi and rice really do work. And since I've never had cirrosis of the liver I should continue to drink several glasses of whiskey a night.

The food I could handle. The conversation I could not. After 14 months of eating with the same Korean teachers in the same room the same questions still came my way. We've all heard them before. Yes, I can use chopsticks. No, it's not too spicy. Yes, I like kimchi. Of course it cures cancer, I'm a man of reason! Yet still I could endure these inanities. What I couldn't withstand was the daily inquisitions. What did I have for dinner the night before? Laughter. What did I have for breakfast? Laughter. What will I have tonight for dinner? Retarded, retarded laughter. A ham sandwich has never before been so hilarious. And you know, fine. But for 14 months? I'm really not that interesting. The ham sandwich might be, but I'm sure not.

Finally I said enough. I made up some story about my doctor cutting spicy food out of my diet and removed myself from the lunch gatherings all together. Of course there were no questions about that. But still the daily interviews exist. What did I bring for lunch? When will I eat it? How did I make it? Did I enjoy it? What will you bring tomorrow? And every time it's laughter. Comedians would kill for this kind of easy reaction. I would kill to make it stop. Some might find it charming that they care so much. I should remind them that it's been a year since I stopped eating with them. Last week all the subject teachers went out for lunch together. The food was pre-ordered and I had no say in the matter. Jae-yook dok-bap was selected for me and everyone else had binbimbap. Hey, I'm pleased that someone actually listened to me and chose something I would marry if I could (and will once prop 13 passes. Yes on 13!) As they all sat there grazing on their bowls of messy veggies and egg in unison the comments started leaking in and heads started to slowly explode. Apparently I don't like vegetables and love pork. Isn't it too spicy? Chopsticks?! YOU KNOW KIMCHI!!!! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahha....etc.

I should be happy. In any disagreement with any school official I just have to mention what I ate for lunch and it will turn into a Must See TV yuk-fest in the room. But much like Seinfeld, I just don't get it.

Pyeongchang: Always the bridesmaid

About 3 years ago, Pyeongchang lost their second bid to hold the Winter Olympics to Sochi, Russia. At the time I wrote up a fictional piece about the Korean town's inevitable 3rd try in 2011. In honour of the upcoming Olympic Games in Vancouver (to whom Pyeongchang lost in 2003 by one of the slimmest margins ever), I offer that 'news' article once again. Enjoy. Or don't. I don't depend on other people's happiness for my own.

PyeongChang Loses bid to hold 2018 winter olympics to Baghdad

Rome, Italy- The Olympic dream of the small Korean city of Pyeongchang was shattered yet again yesterday when it lost another close vote to hold the Winter Olympics in 2018. Pyeongchang received 2 votes, 30 behind winner Baghdad and 16 less than second place Royal Norwegian Offshore Oil Rig #1203 in the Artic Ocean.

“Sure, Iraq is on the brink of a civil war, the populace lives in fear and the city has little to no infrastructure. But, given the choices, it was really a no-brainer,” said New Zealand IOC member Hugh Sheffield.

When asked what put Baghdad ahead of other contenders like Pyeongchang, Sheffield stated, “A third of our envoy was killed in the 6 hours we were able to actually go into the Iraqi capital. But, on the other hand, no one knocked me down and stepped on my skull trying to get on the bus before me. That was nice.” Sheffield also noted the welcome lack of children shoving fingers into the delegation’s rear ends.

Swiss IOC member Hans Gergenheister added, “I wasn’t confident with the weather in Pyeongchang. They promised to show us the mountain that would be used for alpine skiing. However, after being led up a small hill, I suppose to get a better look at the mountain, I wasn’t able to see any peaks at all. I guess the fog was just too thick. It was a nice touch for them to colour it yellow, though, to represent Asia…or whatever.” Gergenheister was unable to continue the interview after coughing up blood and passing out.

“They tell me to drink little green bottle,” explained Russian IOC member Boris Chrevchoskov of his vote against Pyeongchang. “They tell me it is like vodka, so I drink. Was it joke? Horse-piss joke? I no laugh. I punch and kick bad men. No Olympics for you, bad men.”

Another factor that may have swayed IOC voters was the compactness of the sites slated to serve as Olympic venues in cozy Baghdad. Commented Dutch IOC member Paul Van der Loopin, “There are only four buildings left standing in Baghdad, and they’re all ready to hold several events each.” Figure skating and luge will be held at the police station in the North-East, speed skating and biathlon at the al-qebib falafel restaurant in the South. All alpine skiing events will take place in the centre of the city on what has become known as the Great Freedom Democracy Liberation Pile of Rubble. Curling will be played on the frozen blood of infidels.

“And you can forget about traffic jams! No one in their right mind would ever try to start a car in that city,” Van der Loopin continued.

Baghdad’s motto, “We Have Electricity Sometimes!” was also sited as being more catchy than the “Super Happy Well Being Bravo Sports Massage Have A Good Time Smile Fighting!?&!?” featured in Pyeongchang’s bid. “With Baghdad, I know what I’m getting. I felt confused, and even mildly offended, by the other one…What’s the name of that city there? Over in Japan or wherever,” Sheffield said.


Reading from a prepared statement, Pyeongchang’s bid Chairman, Kim Chung-Hee, told reporters, “The Swiss player was offside! OFFSIDE!”

Spanish IOC member, Julio Gueveras, who voted for Pyeongchang, expressed hope that the Korean city would try again in the future. “I really, really hope these guys put another bid in while I’m still here. I am totally willing to vote for them again. Hear that Kim Hong-Ki, CEO of Samsung? I am tooooootally willing to do this again. Now, can someone please help me lift this 50” flat screen TV into my brand new Hyundai Tiburon?”

Indeed, although having lost three consecutive Olympic bids, Korean officials promised to keep trying. “That’s just super,” commented Van der Loopin. “Pyeongchang’s perennial optimism in the face of crushing and inevitable defeat is really the ideal of the Olympics. Or at least the Special Olympics.” Pyeongchang faces tough competition for the right to hold the 2022 Olympics, however. The Kashmir territory between India and Pakistan, a garbage barge off the coast of Long Island and a pothole in Bangkok have all expressed their interest in winning the bid.

Oh, sure, now I'm the bad guy

I don't do many things well, but complaining is something I truly excel at. It's something I can really sink my teeth into. So this teachers class I had to do offered a nice opportunity that someone with my skill set could really take and run with. I've entertained myself with mumbled insults, sarcastic comments and even a ranting entry here. It makes me feel alive.

Last Friday was the last day we had. I was very happy and took the opportunity to teach them English expressions such as "dog and pony show" and "it's like pulling teeth" while snickering to myself.

But then these selfish hacks had to go and ruin everything for me. At the end of the lesson they thanked me and offered to take me out to lunch. As a child, I was babysat by my grandmother who survived both Stalin's famine in Ukraine and a concentration camp in Hitler's Germany, so I have been taught to never turn down free food. I accepted hesitantly, ready for another seafood infested monstrosity I had to explain could kill me at any moment due to my allergy. But then these vermin brought me to a duck restaurant. I had mentioned a week or two prior that duck is seen as a delicacy in Canada and that I have only eaten it twice, both times being delicious. So these bastards actually listened to me and surprised me with something that they knew I would like. They even paid for everything. Assholes.

After returning to school pleasantly stuffed I was told to wait just outside the office. Oh, here we go again! They make me wait out in the cold while they go get all comfy in the heated room. Typical! Then these rats, these absolute pricks, come out with a wrapped box and present it to me as thanks for all the work I've done for them. What nerve! I go to my office upstairs and unwrap it, expecting the usual home kimchi making set or box of generic teas that they know I don't drink. Oh, super. It's a bunch of high quality socks. Yeah, it sounds bland enough but just two days before I mentioned that I needed new socks but it's one of those things I never think to buy when out. So these snakes listened to what I said and went out and picked out a gift that suited me perfectly and made my life easier. Can you believe the audacity?

So then I'm sitting there in my office ready to write about how I'm finally done with those selfish losers that I had to teach for 4 weeks, and then they have to go and be all nice and giving. I mean, just let me complain in peace, alright? Is that too much to ask? Can I just hate you and feel sorry for myself without your interfering generosity and friendly warmth?

Ingrates.

Stop me if you've heard this one before

Knock Knock!
Who's there?
Your principal!
My principal who?
The one with the black heart!

4 movies and a funeral

And then there was one. Everyone I know has thoughtful or at least not Satanic black hearted employers and as such are currently galavanting around somewhere. A couple are in New Zealand, another two in Burma. Got one in Canada, 3 in the US and about 4 in either China or Japan. Then there's those lost in the vague "South-East Asia" trip everyone must accomplish before they grow hair on their reproductive areas. And I'm here alone in my cold dark apartment in Seoul. Well, not completely alone. My friends Cass and Soju are keeping me from crying. So far.

Being alone and the weather being what it is, I've recently watched several movies which I will comment on here. Try to guess what movies they are by my descriptions.

1-It's full of stars. FULL OF STARS. BEAUTY....EXISTS!!!! In 3-D!

2-Well, the book destroyed me emotionally so the movie will....zzzzzzzzzzz....

3-Good times. Screw you Hitler! Also, blood and gore.

4-Woody, you crack me up.

5-I can't sleep now as I ponder the implications of demanding a man abandon his humanity to sustain a conflict that serves no purpose and only causes more suffering and hatred. But is conflict and thus the resolution of conflict the purpose of man and so the essence of humanity to begin with? No, putting your life in danger only to complete goals that would necessarily put yourself and others in more danger in the future is the antithesis of the human condition. Helping in a conflict you yourself have created, or allowed to be created, only satisfies the immediate needs of the person in the situation and creates obstacles to their inner peace in the future. But there will always be obstacles and we cannot control the situations we find ourselves in, so our reaction to those situations is necessarily pure of cynism, and then longing for those same restrictions in the future only illustrates that the person had no direction, or if you will 'humanity', to begin with. Yes, however...............

For the uninitiated, the answers are 1-Avatar (seriously, if you didn't get that you must be having a crappier winter break than I am, living under that rock and all). 2- The Road, 3- Inglourious Basterds, 4-Zombieland, 5-The Hurt Locker. And now for the 1st annual Awards of Orange:

Best actor
Woody Harrelson, Zombieland.

Oh sure, the actors in the Hurt Locker are technically better. I'm not even sure if they are actors or real soldiers, they're that good. But Woody, you crack me up.


Best actress
Melanie Laurent, Inglourious Basterds

Bien oui, ma cher. Played the French aloof bitch perfectly, and I mean that very positively. Not ruining anything, but the final part with her laughing est magnifique! Say what you will about Tarintino, but the man certainly knows how to create a heroine.

Best novel that got turned into a bedtime story
The Road

I was skeptical going in, bored going out. Not bad, though, which makes it worse. If it was bad then at least I'd have an opinion. Right now I'm just getting sleepy again.

Best movie watching paraphernalia handed to me when purchasing tickets
Noodles, The Road

Yes, Avatar gave me the glasses. However, for some unknown reason even though it was explained to me 4 different times, I was handed two giant packages of udon noodles when I bought my tickets for The Road. You can't eat glasses, folks.

Most subtitles (that I had to read to understand plot)
Inglourious Basterds

Even knowing French wasn't good enough. Plus, I don't think I know that many French swear words or ways to say 'die', 'death', 'kill' or 'to be dead'.

Most subtitles (that had no bearing on my understanding of the plot)
Avatar

What, there's dialogue? Is it in 3D? No? Then I don't care.

Film I will annoy others with "You should really see...." for months
The Hurt Locker

A tough category here. Most people have already seen Avatar, and if they haven't I let the shame that only mass media can force on them do my job for me. It'll probably be in theatres for months, so even the slothiest of the sloths out there will probably meander their way to the cinema eventually. Heck, even I finally submitted and saw Titanic after 7 months in the hope that I was the last remaining person in the free world that hadn't seen it so it could finally end its run. Zombieland is probably under-appreciated so my gospel would reach many. But while I love horror/zombie/comedy(slash)horror movies, not many of the people I know do. Losers. And I was probably the last one I know to see Basterds. The Hurt Locker, though. You guys should really see that. I mean it. I think it's still playing some places, I'll look it up for you. If not, you can totally see it on DVD. Man, you just don't know until you see it. You should totally sit down one night and watch that movie. Like really watch it. Y'know? So....have you seen it yet? Cause you totally should.

Most tissues left unused at end of film
The Road

Outside of adult entertainment, I have never approached a movie with more tissues ready to be soiled in my life. Not one used, unless you count wiping the yawn spit from my chin at the end.

Best killing of zombies
Zombieland

Fuck yeah!

Best killing of Nazis
Inglourious Basterds

Fuck yeah!

Best use of 3D to make me feel like I escaped into a dreamworld of magic and wonder
Avatar

The first 3D film I've ever seen and it didn't disappoint. 2, 3, 4, however many hours it was of childlike wonder. *happy sigh*

Best 'Splosions!!!!1!
The Hurt Locker

The toughest category, really. Basterds was up there, as was Avatar and Zombieland. Yes, Locker beat out 3D, Nazi and zombies explosions.

Film I will see again when I have access to performance enhancing substances
Zombieland

You might have expected to see Avatar here, but let me explain. There is no way my viewing experience of that movie could be enhanced by anything besides finding a Delorian to take me back to 1986 and having my 6-year-old self poop his pants in delight. So Zombieland it is.

Film people are missing the point of the most
Avatar

Listen, anyone past second grade knows the writing is obvious, the plot predictable and the characters one-dimensional (ha!). I don't care. I don't even know how to express how much I don't care about that. The characters could have just stood around scratching their asses for the entire 5 hours, or whatever, and I would have been fine with that. I didn't understand the Korean subtitles for the aliens and it didn't impact my viewing experience in the least. You know why? BECAUSE IT WAS UNBELIEVABLY BEAUTIFUL YOU SOULESS FAUX INTELLECTUALS. That's why. I think religion is a farce, but that didn't stop me from thoroughly enjoying Narnia, the original dreamworld of magic. So put on your goddamned ugly glasses, sit back and gasp at the innocent wonder. Or I swear I will kick your ass out of the theatre and down the stairs until you are bloody and begging to return to the magic of Pandora. I'm sorry, sweetie, but as your uncle I just have to do what I think is right for you.

Film that makes you go hmmmmmmm.....
The Hurt Locker

......if we are to judge a man based on his actions in the here and now and not on what we expect his actions to be based on what others, including that very man, have done around us in the past then our perspectives are always in flux. And if our persepctives are always changing then how can we rely on them to decipher the world around us. Given that, what I might consider erratic now might seem reasonable or even desirable in the future given other circumstances and experiences. But this all changes when other lives are depending on you and those lives are reacting to what you are doing right now, unaware of what experiences might come in the future. In that case, which is to say all cases because no one is ever aware of the future, one must take into account all parties' expectations and needs. However, all of this is simply theoretical nonsense when faced with the immediacy and horror of war and the fallacy of man. How can we expect others to conform and even understand our own needs when we often, if not always, have no idea what those are for ourselves. Which of course raises the whole question of right to self-destruction because.......

Can I clean it after I soak it with your blood?

So I'm in here a few days ago teaching my kids and doing what I do. My principal and VP come in and stand at the back to watch. A few minutes pass and I guess they felt they weren't getting enough attention so in the middle of us doing something, my black-hearted principal just starts addressing all the students in Korean. Ok, nevermind what I was doing, you go ahead. She stops talking and I awkwardly start again only to be interrupted once more by the black hearted one. She asks me to come in the hallway. Acutally, my VP is the one who asks me because I'm not good enough to be spoken directly to (seriouly, the woman will not speak directly to me and does so only through people. It's not a language thing either, she'll say things in English to my co-teacher right in front of me like, "Tell him I want a better lesson plan". Yes, she's that messed up).

Anyway, so I go outside and my principal (again, via my VP) tells me to clean the floor in my classroom. Ok, fine, I'll do that after the class. NO! RIGHT NOW! Wait, you want me to stop teaching and sweep the floor? No, of course not....................you have to MOP the floor! I clarify again; I should stop the lesson, go find a mop, fill up a bucket with water, move the desks and clean the floor right now?

YES!

I roll my eyes and say sure, I'll get right on it. I return to what I was doing. I told my co-teachers about this yesterday when we met for lunch and after they all looked at their feet one apologized, "This makes Koera look so bad." The other just deadpanned, "Principal is sick in the head."

YES!

This year my camp is called "Crystal Lake" on account of all the blood

There are several things I don't understand about English camp, the first obviously being where Koreans came up with the term 'camp' for 'additional classes that are almost exactly like normal classes'. Besides that, I present to you my top 5 list of irrationalities, irritabilities and ir....regular verbs(?) of English Camp.

1) Keeping the class list more secret than Bush's location in the afternoon of 9/11 (my guess: Jack in the Box in Idaho). What grade, how many, what level? Apparently, these are all insignificant queries for the teacher, yet we are still expected to create 15 days of informative and entertaining lessons for these mystery guests. It's not even like no one knows or anything. I see the permission slips from the kids on my co-teacher's desk weeks ahead of time, but if I happen to glance at them they are promptly stowed away in a locked drawer. I have been in Korea long enough to know that information, integral or mundane, is the second most valuable commodity here (after subway seats, of course). It still drives me nuts, though. I do get it however. If you had some sort of idea of what's going on then how would the higher ups get off on controlling you?

2) 25 kids maximum are supposed to be in each class. So, that's 25 mothers (I would be PC and say "or fathers", but it's Korea so let's just be honest) who filled out the form. It's first come, first served, or whoever hands over the thickest envelope or whines on the phone the most, etc. So there are kids out there who wanted to come but couldn't. Tomorrow is the last day of camp, and out of the total 75 kids on my list at least 14 of them haven't showed up once. I simply do not understand why you would go to the trouble of signing up for something, knowing you're taking a valuable spot that someone else really wants, and then simply not coming at all over 3 weeks. Not only that, but I made books and printed off a copy of the 23 page thing for every single student. I find this extremely, unbelievably selfish. Notice I didn't use the adjective "surprising".

3) Out of the ones who have come, I would say maybe 10/75 show up at least 4 days a week. The others are in here maybe once or twice, or if they're up to it a whole 3 days a week. Not only that, but they waltz in 5, 10, 15 minutes late. It's a 40 minute class. WTF is the point? And it's always the slowest ones, too. I have to explain everything all over again to them, and they just can't get it through their adorably thick skulls. I ask one of the other kids to explain it in Korean. Still no sign of life. Forget it, you'll probably have to leave early anyway.

4) Mothers who 'hide' outside my class. I don't know if they really believe I can't see them or if they're half retarded. Either way, it's annoying as hell. You can try to duck down behind that shelf in the hallway, but with your giant head with the even gianter permed hair-do it's not going to happen. I don't care if you want to watch the class, I've offered for you to come and sit down inside if you want. But no, you perfer to pretend to walk away, then sneak back to your post behind the pilar outside the door. By the way, if you don't want me to hear you jogging back try not dragging your feet with shoes 3 sizes too big hanging from your feet. Just a tip!

5) These random kids. Mommy wants to go have coffee/hot affair with her friend/inernet hook-up this morning, and I've heard there's some foreign dude babysitting at your school for free. You can come home around 1:00, ok? No kidding, I don't know if this happens at other schools, but almost daily I have these random kids show up that aren't on my list and have no idea why they're there. Sometimes they stay for different classes. But they're always only there for one day. Then there's these two other kids who started bringing their little brothers to our class. So in a 3rd grade class I have two 1st graders. And you know what, fine. But you would think it would be common courtesy to ask me if it was alright. Nope, just show up without warning and let me deal with it. Oh, did I mention that these kids are the ones who are always late?

I mean, I don't fool myself. It's not school anymore than it's a camp. It's babysitting pure and simple. It's easy and I actually like the change from the grind, so it's not bad or anything. At least the kids have been good. Well, up until today when one of them stabbed another kid with scissors and then had a nervous breakdown complete with chair throwing and table turning over when I asked him to see me outside. I mean, it wouldn't be Korea without childhood psychosis.

Can the Olympics sue me for license infringement if I use the word Olympics to ask if the Olympics can sue me for license infringement?

Let me start by saying that I love the Olympics. The flags, the national anthems, the fractions of seconds, the underdog stories, the superhuman displays, the history, the hard bodies, the soul crushing lows, the dizzying highs, the tear jerking soft focus personal hardship stories. Can't get enough of all of it. Yes, sport is partly seeing people who think they're amazing come crashing down, and that's why no one outside of mainland USA roots for Americans. "Miracle in Ice" is known as "The day that lives in Ice-famy" in the rest of the world, fyi. But every so often a Jamaican bobsled team or Eddie the Eagle comes along and reminds us that sport can be as simple as giving your all to something despite having limited abilities, resources and training. As teachers in Korea I think we can all relate to that. Minus the gold medals, respect and sense of accomplishment. And fame, dignity, proper funding, input and personal growth. But doing stuff, that's the same.

For all of those reasons I decided once Vancouver was elected host of the 2010 Games that I would be in attendance. I was fortunate enough to actually be in Prague, the city they were holding the vote, that day back in 2003. Most trips to Prague result in it being a beer soaked fairy tale blur and mine was no different. But I do remember putting my giant pilsner mug down long enough to applaud the decision for my home country to play host to the biggest winter party. And to suff a few Czech crowns in the stripper's g-string.

In true Olympic spirit, Vancouver's win was a close one over Pyeongchang Korea, the perpetual bridesmaid of an Olympic host hopeful. Adorable. At the time I was a naive young buck who literally just finished university a few days prior and was lost in Europe with the whole world at my feet. Little did I know I would give up on life so easily and end up in the Hermit Kingdom for half a decade. In retrospect, a Pyeongchang win would have been more convenient for me. But I just can't bring myself to root for Korea even if it benefits me personally. I'm just a terrible person.

Anyway, here we are in the future, 2010, on the cusp of said Olympic games. Long story short, I had no idea what I was doing with my life (hard to tell, right?) the last few years and thus couldn't commit to buying tickets. But now due to the blackness of my principal's heart I will be taking my vacation over the 2 weeks the Olympics will be taking place. This might sound convenient, but there have been set backs.

First, I fly over Vancouver on my way to T-dot (that's what us cool Toronto area hip young dudes call Toronto, duh!) literally during the opening and closing ceremonies, but I can't go through it because Korean Air doesn't fly there and SMOE is buying my ticket. So then I can just catch a flight in Toronto to Vancouver, right? Well, I suppose I could add another 5.5 hour flight on to the 13 I already have. Both ways. Ok, sure, I can make it work.

My next problem was finding a reasonably priced place to sleep while there. Because we love capitalism and there can be no other system where the government helps out the little guy in the least because that's communism and there'll be purges and death panels and the Man will come and sleep with your wife and eat your children, hotels and hostels have tripled their already atrocious West Coast prices for the duration of the Games. But then I had another convenient coincidence fall from the sky. My best friend from home just got a job in the Vancouver area and set up residence last weekend. It's not the Ritz, or even Motel 6 and frankly I'd be amazed if it has running water or heat, but it's a roof! Sha-BAAM!

So now I'm there and challenging the rats for the sofabed, what to see? Well, almost everything's sold out by now. There's the women's hockey game between China and Switzerland available, which would actually be fine if it was less than $50 for the nosebleeds at the ungodly hockey hour of 12 noon. It's not that I'm against drinking beer and shouting that early in the day (just ask my neighbours), it's just that I don't know how I'm expected to be washed and out of the house at that time. I'm on vacation! Then there's curling which I will watch with serious intensity on TV, but only while partaking in another famous BC pastime that I can't do here in Korea due to lack of necessary equipment. Often times I catch myself standing, shouting "SWEEEEEEP!!! HAAAARD!!!" at the TV and I don't think the competitors would appreciate that live. I have to say, though, that out of all the athletes at the Olympics you know the curlers would be the most fun to party with. Hell, if you're from Canada or the MidWest you probably already have. At a family reunion.

My winter sports are short track and long track speed skating. Short track is like rollerderby, but with skill. Canada is good at it while Korea is excellent, which means I could support my Canucks while also booing the Koreans as loud as my blowhorn and ironically used un-thunder sticks would allow me. Screw the Olympic spirit, I'd be lucky not to leave the arena without a human rights abuse charge leveled against me. Oh, how I would jeer their very existance. Originally tickets for these events were $50-$200. Now people are re-selling them online for $200-$8-mother-sucking-000. There are no anti-scalping laws in BC so even the official site has set up an auction for re-sell. Long live capitalism!

I keep thinking of all that wisdom that the bumper stickers I've encountered over the years has taught me. I really should live for today becaus I could be hit by a bus tomorrow, which coincidentally is the first day of my life. I would already be there if being a cynical ass were an event, as we all hope it will be by 2014. But until then I've got to decide if it's worth the time and effort to do all this. As my sister said, "I would just think the best and cheapest view would be from the sofa in my warm livingroom." Well played, Team Reason. Well played.

Make it work

Sometimes living in Korea means abandoning your pre-conceived notions of logic and common sense. In fact, you should probably forget the concepts of logic and common sense all together. Working here highlights this fact even more. If I had a nickel for everytime I've been told not to challenge the students because then they won't learn anything, I'd have enough money to go somewhere more sane, like Disneyworld or Bellevue. If I actually tried to understand why I needed another criminal record check from Canada even though I haven't left Korea since my last one I'd probably go blind. This is why they have 1,000won bottles of soju here. So you don't have to think. I mean, I'm using a Korean keyboard right now that switches to Hanguel every three strokes for no reason, yet it wouldn't let me use the 'won' button in that last sentence. But I'm ok with all of this. Well, really I'm not. But I have a fridge full of soju and a wallet full of chun'uns so I'll just move on.

The evilness of my principal is well documented, but I feel like her insanity has been kept quiet until now. Back in early December while she was denying my request to visit my new born niece and sick father over Christmas, this black hearted creature decided that me teaching English camp in the morning simply wasn't enough. No, I would have to hold 2 hour long classes with various teachers from my school in the afternoon. After expressing some concern about OT payment and referring to my contracted 22 hours per week (principal quote: "Yes, those are HOURS, not classes! So, really, you've been working less than you're supposed to") and calling several higher ups, I finally wittled it down to 2 hours 3 times a week. But I should realize how lucky I am and how kind the principal is, apparently.

I'd also like to point out that I do regular teacher classes at my school which none of these teachers attend. My co-teacher even went to each of them individually and told them it creates a whole lot of unnecessary work for me. They were unfazed. Lovely people, my co-workers. Avert their eyes when I pass them in the hall like I'm a leper gypsie, but just so eager to meet with me thrice a week during break after I'm exhausted from teaching 1st graders all morning.

Yesterday was our first meeting. Originally it was supposed to start at 1pm, which worked better for me but apparently interfered with their lunch schedules. Seeing as they're coming from home with no other commitments, I can only guess that "Screaming Korean Seizure Variety Show #409876" doesn't end till 1 o'clock, hence the conflict.

Over the last 2 weeks I've had nothing to do but lesson plan. Well, that and contemplate arson. In addition to the several test fires I set, I also planned out almost all these teacher classes which was difficult to do seeing as in true Korean fashion the attendance roster was kept more secret than Israel's nuclear capabilities. Hey, I'm just teaching the class. Why would I need to know numbers, levels and expectations? Having taught my district's teachers class previously, I have ample materials for all levels and learning strategies, as well as class sizes. I use a myriad of mediums including hand-outs, group work, ppts, and of course the white board to illustrate grammar facts and student questions. You know, like I was teaching or something.

So there I was sitting in the English room at 1:25 waiting for the mysterious students to show up when in comes one of the secretaries. Though she doesn't speak a word of English I understand enough to follow her downstairs to a room off the main office. "Englishee" (points to room). Outside the room stand 3 teachers who abruptly shout, "Where you?!! Englishee class now!" Well, see, I know not telling me the majority of things is par for Korea, but the the location of the class is probably essential information for the class to actually take place. But nevermind, I run back up to my room and grab my stuff only to return to an empty room. Seems as though every has disappeared. After a quick search, I find them all by the coffee machine. I say I'm ready when they are, am thoroughly ignored and go back to set up for the class. In this new room there is no computer nor is there a white board. Awesome, there goes half my lesson. It's ok, I've dealt with worse. I mean, who in Korea hasn't been asked to lead 5 year olds to fluency in a closet with no heat/AC or electricity for that matter?

Finally the 'students' arrive predictably 10 minutes late. If I've learned anything from teaching adults here is that they will swagger in whenever the hell they feel like it and still expect you to stay with them the whole 2 hours. So, once you get through the speeches and dick measuring of how 'busy' they are, you're about 20 minutes behind. Yes, you're so busy. That coffee machine wasn't going to press the buttons itself! You work so hard, if only you could have a vacation like the one you're enjoying now while I'm at work preparing the lesson you don't care about and will criticize without understanding it.

But I digress.

Whaddaya know, one of the students crawling in is my lovely principal! After regaling me with a non-sequitur story about how she brought ramyeon to the US and all the Americans within sniffing distance begged her to share because American food is awful, Korea #1, and so on, we start the lesson. I remind you, I have absolutely no materials available to me so when a student asks for the spelling of an 11 letter word I have no choice but to repeat the spelling 6 times until she can write it all down. And then 4 more times for the other student who was on their cell. Then 2 more times because, whoops, student #3 got mixed up with the 'b' and 'd'.

In total, 5 students showed up yesterday ranging in English ability from absolute beginner to 'thinks he's more fluent than he really is'. Every single student in the class would be in a different level if I lived in a rational country and there was actual screening. I simply don't know how to teach a class that has one person who looked at me confused when I said, "Hello", and another who asks me about the suitability of ending casual sentences with a preposition. Along with everyone in between. No one would talk, of course, so I had to resort to reading an article and asking questions from it to a series of blank and/or frightened stares. Finally, after carrying most of the conversation for an hour I suggested a break. Honest to god, they all just non-chalantly shook their heads and said, "No, we don't need a break." This after each of them visited the bathroom, refilled their coffees and talked on their phones for hlaf the time. Sorry, folks, I know it goes against what you learned in school but us foreign devils also need to replenish and waste.

After the grueling, terrible, wanted to 'accidentally' stab my throat with my pen so I could get out of there, two hours it was finally over. As I got up to leave my principal, the one with the black heart, stopped me. She was pretty disappointed with the class. There wasn't enough free talking. I said I tried to encourage talking, but no one would bite, including her. Well, that's my fault too. The subject matter was too hard! What were these post-grad Einsteinian subjects we tackled? 'Our family' and when that went to the crickets, "Male roles vs. Female roles in society". Yes, I can see that my questions "Do you have any brothers?" and "Do you cook dinner, or does your wife/husband?" are better left for NASA. So I asked what would be better subjects. Well, I'm the teacher! I'm getting paid to come up with these things, not her! But, fine, she'll help me. You know, things related to Korea more. Yes, family is too much of a foreign concept to wrap your mind around. Sorry about that. Next time it's all kimchi, all the time! Maybe some talk about the 4 seasons here, if we get a little crazy!

I suggested that we move the class to the English room, with the computer, TV, white board, lights and windows. Now I'm just being selfish. I'm going to make all the teachers walk through the cold halls to get there just to make my job easier?

Meh, who needed all those lessons that I made anyway. I'll just start from scratch now to satisfy 6 people at wildly different levels who all really want to talk about lots of things, but it's up to me to figure it out. In a tiny windowless room with absolutely to room to move around or illustrate any points.

I'm thinking of making this all into a project runway-esque reality show.

"We gave them 6 surly students who have no idea what they want, 3 of whom think they're already better than the teacher. They're not allowed to use chalk, markers, powerpoints, computers, any technology past 45BC really. Their mission is to have everyone fluent in a language they refuse to speak outside of this tiny windowless room within a month. The winner will go home. No, that's it. The winner will just go home. Trust us, that's all they want out of this."