If you'll recall, I had the weekend to myself before training started in full, and I decide to watch a video. My floor of the hotel has a shelf of vhs tapes in the hallway, and amidst random 80s action flicks and the occasional blockbuster is the bright orange case of eXistenZ (because things are never weird enough until you're watching a fuzzy Cronenberg tape in a foreign country). I bring it back to my room, pop it in, and chortle to myself about how Ian Holm's name is misspelled on the cover, and the tape itself has the astoundingly-translated title of Rogue Trader. But that's Korea, right? Well, I watch a good 10 minutes of this "Rogue Trader" and between the weird translations and the constant scan lines and the Samsung watermark bouncing around the screen, things are getting pretty weird. So fucking weird, in fact, that I finally look it up on AMG and realize that Rogue Trader is actually a different movie, and I've been mistaking Ewan MacGregor for Jude Law this entire time. So then I went and found the right eXistenZ tape on the shelf and watched it and things were so weird that I flipped out and killed myself.
After I stopped being dead, I replied to an email from my cousin Jen. You see, once my parents found out I was going to Korea they, being who they are, scoured the Earth for anyone remotely related or connected to us who was also in Korea. Because, uh, buddy system or some shit, I dunno. Well, turns out a third-cousin I had never heard about named Jen was living near Seoul, and we arranged to meet. I've never been super big on family, and the thought of meeting a relative my parents found had me monstrously apprehensive. I lined up a number of excuses I could use to hoof it out of there, at least one of which was true (there was a show a few hours later I was planning to go to, but I could be very flexible when telling her what time I had to be there). Joke's on me, though, because she turns out to be cool and I end up skipping the show and drinking heavily at a western-style pub called Big Rock. Here, I meet this guy Andy:
He owns the place, and apparently supplies malt to all the Korean beer manufacturers. Fun fact: even he admits that Korean beer is generally shit. His pub, however, has its own selection of microbrews that are delicious but made in Toronto or something. Jen and I drink their beer sampler and some cocktails and eventually a friend of hers shows up, who was to be Jen's way out if I turned out to be boring. Great minds!
Jen, and on the end there is Ms. Back Up Plan.
After finishing our drinks we grab hot dogs at some stand where Jen is able to score free drinks by the sheer act of speaking Korean with the guy, an occurrence I tuck away under my hat for future (ab)use. Jen goes clothes shopping and I tag along, only to discover this curious Korean style chart:
The moral of today's post: When your inner beauty isn't enough to land a good man, try some motherfucking jeans.
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