2010 Goatee Extravaganza!

Not much has been happening these last few weeks, but here's some highlights:

-I did the Portal song "Still Alive" at Open Mic. There is video of this, which I do not think I will be posting until it's possible to somehow convince people my bad playing is ironic. However, instead here's a picture of graffiti on the bathroom wall that led me to believe this song might have an appreciative audience:


You know what's awesome? A girl outside, waiting for her friend in the stall next to mine, asking aloud "Is someone taking pictures in the bathroom?" and then seeing me come out, tucking my camera into my pocket. Hi-Larious.

-My family visited for a few days. I had to wake up disgustingly early to hang out with them during the day before work, but it wasn't so bad. I got some new clothes.

-After being denied time off to spend with my family while they were visiting, I was instead given extra hours the following week. At the end of my 36-hour week, my boss gave me shit at work (on Saturday) for wearing jeans and I almost punched her in her stupid face. It's almost like she actively wants to destroy all the goodwill I had for her after she helped me out of the arrest fiasco. Fuck that cunt.

-Remember the MP3 player I was amazingly given back after a month of it being lost to the winds? Well, somehow it broke in my pocket. Dang.

-Drank a lot blah blah blah last night was a friend's birthday party, so there were a few interesting things. I tried my first Flaming Dr. Pepper (picture forthcoming, hopefully), then the birthday boy got shitty drunk and buried his face in cake right before hugging me and getting cake all over my jacket, while chanting Mickey Rourke's line "To all my friends!" from Barfly.


I'm not sure he was conscious at this point.

Anyways, stuff got pretty predictable from then on. One coworker started crying uncontrollably and then used my jacket sleeve to wipe her snot, another coworker propositioned me, and I spent the whole night thanking YHWH that drycleaning is so cheap in this country. Like, 3 bucks!



But let's get serious for a moment. There's been a conflict brewing on the horizon for about a month now, and I think we all know what it is.



What to do with this douchebag's facial hair.

I know there has been, diplomatically put, a mixed reception to the goatee. Well, here's where you folks can weigh in. Should I keep it? Go clean shaved? Shave the beard, keep the lip warmer? Lose the 'stache, keep the chin pubes?



THE DECISION IS YOURS.

A Week in the Life

I haven't been updating as much as I thought it would, so I figured I'd share a fairly normal example of one of my weeks. So, here's my super boring last week:

MONDAY

-Monday is Meat Night, so me and a bunch of coworkers always head to a barbecue place near work. There, we eat a bunch of meat and drink an even bigger bunch of beer, soju, and plum wine.

-After that, we go to WA Bar, which is a bar that boasts a huge selection of beers from around the world, which me and another coworker are trying to diligently work though. We also play Presidents and Assholes with a deck of cards, and wonder how many incidents of spousal abuse we'll see that night. I think this particular Monday it was only 1.

TUESDAY

-Tuesday is Burger Night, so we go to the Canadian joint The Holy Grill to get their burger specials (they also have fucking incredible macaroni and cheese). I also usually drink some sort of frozen cocktail like a Mudslide or Grasshopper, and am made fun of for it because people are all jealous dicks.

WEDNESDAY

-Wednesday is usually Open Mic Night at Commune's, but this particular week it was instead St. Patrick's Day. Starting at Commune's.


-There was green beer (which most people drank as fast as possible so they could get back to drinking the more dignified Guinness). There were also copious shots, and Irish Car Bombs (not pictured).


-A coworker put lipstick on me. It made me feel real pretty.

-A bunch of people were heading to The Bus, a fried food joint that is partially built out of an actual bus. I duck out with them and get some fries and shit, then go back to Commune's where the bartender gives me a whiskey on the house. Yay!

This is our booth at the bus. The food was kind of mediocre but we were pretty drunk so it's okay.

THURSDAY

-Having drank the last three nights, Thursday was my night to stay inside. Until I remembered that it was another coworker's birthday, and ended up at the hookah bar, bombarded by drinks and chocolate cake.


They had marshmallows as appetizers! Crazy! And brilliant.

-After the hookah bar we go to Urban, a bar/club where I had previously lost my coat (again, for real this time) and the mp3 player in the pocket. Imagine my joy and, really, incredulity when an older woman, maybe a manager, comes up to me and asks if my name is Jamie and says that she has my shit. A month later after I had checked Urban without success to see if they had them, mind you. Boy howdy! My mood was raised even higher when one of the bartenders who was even drunker than me poured me a free shot of Crown Royal, and then a shot of orange juice to chase it I guess. Who knows.

-After more drinks, playing the worst game of pool in human history, and old manager lady telling me to come back on Saturday to get my coat and mp3 player, I get in a cab to go home. When we get out of the cab, my friend gets a call. Turns out, Birthday Girl is a little concerned that a mutual friend has gone into the bathroom with a really sleazy Moroccan guy who had been talking to her earlier. I don't know why it's important that he's Moroccan, I'm probably just racist. Anyways, from what I could make out standing there listening to the phone call, Birthday Girl tells one of the bartenders who then bust into the bathroom and break open the stall door where our friend and the guy were probably fucking (though she denies it now, as one would).

I feel bad I don't have any pictures of those events, so here's a picture of a marshmallow I toasted over a candle at the hookah bar:

Sometimes life is really good.

FRIDAY

-I go to a friend's house to play video games and drink beer, having given up any hope of a sober lifestyle. We eat homemade chili and watch Metalocalypse for awhile until finally Guitar Hero is broken out and righteous riffs are licked. Then we play Mario Kart Wii, and collectively spend an embarrassing amount of time creating look-alike Miis of the group. Somehow I make it through a weeknight without getting too sloppy drunk.

SATURDAY

-Going into Saturday I knew I was going to end up at Urban to get my coat and mp3 player back, so I wasn't making any pretenses about trying not to drink. It was going to happen. First, I went to a chicken place this guy Ted from high school recommended. He is also in Korea, so it makes sense. I eat there and it is pretty damn good.

-Next, a friend and I hit up Club Heavy for a show. We get there just as a pop-punk band named Africa is finishing up, and the next band comes on. They are called What! and like that chicken place they are pretty damn good:



However, the singer soon notices us, we being the only two white people in the place. So, he starts bantering with us between songs, bitching about how bad Korean music is and how I am handsome and I have a good name. Seriously. He also asks where I'm from, and when I say Seattle he launches into a Jimi Hendrix cover, followed by this Alice in Chains cover:



I'm not an Alice in Chains fan, but I fully appreciated the "service songs" as he called them. There are a few more songs, and then this awesome broken-English cover of "Wild Thing":



-After they're done playing, the singer goes through the audience giving out free guitar picks, and I buy their album. Which means, if there's any interest I can probably put up a link to it on here. That is something that could happen if you like underground Korean hard rock. And who doesn't?!

-The rest of the night is a blur of bar-hopping and bag cocktails until we end up at Urban and I'm given my lost stuff. The really weird bit is my headphones aren't there, but someone has slipped a case on the mp3 player, and also thrown in a wall charger. Score?

-One of the bartenders there seemed to be flirting with me both Thursday and Saturday night, so I ask her number. And get it! I also learn that she doesn't want a boyfriend and never has free time, so. Extra score. I don't remember anything after this, but I'm told that we go to another bar, where I'm a dick and drunkenly hide my friend's wallet for awhile until we buy pizza in a cup and go home.

SUNDAY

-I don't drink! Instead, I go to a coworker's and watch The Hurt Locker and smoke pot for the first time in Korea. Neat.

THE FUTURE?

More super boring weeks like this, and also my parents visiting Tuesday-Friday. Uh oh.

Until then,

See You Later, Space Cowboys

Arrest Epilogue: S-K-A SKA!

Now that I'm FINALLY done talking about every detail of the lowest point of my time here in Korea, I figure I'll throw in something special by sharing one of the mega-high points: a video I took of A KOREAN SKA BAND!



Who knew Koreans skanked? The name of this group is Kingston Rudieska, which is the most "ska" name I've ever heard. Go ahead, try and create a name more rude than that. I tried, and my best effort was "Upstroke Hornsection." Not great. If people are into this, there may be a few more videos to come, especially if I can get Blogger to upload them correctly.

Till next time, Space Cowboys.

Jamie Gets Arrested 2: Arrest Harder

Now that I've given you all a good first taste of my arrest story, like any good drug dealer I'm here to follow up with a second hit laced with disappointment, junkie hope, and just a little PCP. Let's chase that dragon together:

When last we left our intrepid hero, I had just been told by detectives that no one would tell the school about what had happened. It stands to reason, then, that a couple days later one of the Korean staff at school would come up to me and mention that the police had called, asking after me.

A little context: just a week or two ago I had been thoroughly chastised by my boss for, well, showing up constantly late, and not prepping. I made it through that by the skin of my teeth, so one can imagine the mood when I get called into her office to talk about these current events. It wasn't super pretty, but long story cut very short I convince her of the same story I told the cops and she says she's going to accompany me to the police station for my meeting with the detectives.

When I get to the part about "John" and "Christopher", I make sure to mention that while they told they were teachers, they also had shaved heads, which prompts her to draw the conclusion that not only were these mystery scoundrels not teachers, but they must have been American GIs. Dirty, lying, roof-climbin' GIs. In fact, she tells me, the entire thing may even have been a setup to get me in trouble. For fun! These guys are freaking diabolical. She goes on to asks me how much I had to drink that night, and I keep to the same story of "just two beers" and tell her all about how I asked to be breathalyzed, and she responds that they only give breathalyzers to drunk drivers. Score one for hunches, I think to myself. She also informs me that in Korea people on roofs are generally considered to be burglars, which I chalk up to cultural misunderstanding. A really, really big misunderstanding. Cultures and all.

You should also know that my boss is Christian. Reeeeal Christian. I told her I was Christian as well back when I was trouble for the whole late/not prepping thing, and now I decided to go all in. I got very humble, and played a card I had been saving for awhile. I told her I would go to church, and asked where I could find one, so that once again I could feel the loving embrace of the Lord, who would bring me back to the path of righteousness and end my straying days.

Turns out, one of my coworkers went to an English service at a church nearby. The next Sunday I go with her, sit through the service, and make sure to grab a pamphlet on my way out. Be prepared, us Boy Scouts say. I also get a call from one of the detectives, reminding me of the meeting and also asking if I've managed to find John and Christopher yet, because it's of the utmost importance that they are found. Of course I haven't forgotten the meeting, I say, and No I haven't seen John or Christopher, because of course they don't exist but I tell them I'm Trying My Best.

It's the Big Day. My boss pulls up outside of my apartment and gives me a ride to the police station. I'm dressed to the nines in my suit, church pamphlet in my pocket, and routinely throwing out anecdotes about how good it feels to be back in the flock and all that. We arrive, and it turns out the place is much busier in the afternoon than at 6am. The old guy house owner is there, as well as a translator to take my statement. My boss speaks in Korean with the detectives and Old Guy, presumably defending me and explaining my story as she knows it. Turns out Old Guy was living in that house with his whole family, including his grandkids who I'm told were terrified when they heard me up on that roof. I don't feel great about that.

Now's the part where the old man was supposed to extort a shitload of money out of me. If you think America loves its litigation, you can't imagine how sue-crazy Korea is. TURNS OUT though that this guy is actually pretty rich, and furthermore is also fucking Christian and not only doesn't want money, but he isn't going to press charges.

Oh yes. Things were all turning out Jamie.

Except for a bit the detectives mention about how they're still going to forward my case to the city prosecutor, who will then decide whether to stick me with a charge anyways. Spoiler Alert: It's been two and a half months, and I haven't heard anything back about that, so it's probably safe to assume I'm in the clear. Anyways, after I'm done giving my statement they take my fingerprints and then give us some little energy drinks (Vita500) from a cabinet and send us on our way. Before we leave, the detectives tell me it's still crucially important that I find John and Christopher, because without them they can't close my case or some shit. My boss also asks me about "Jack", the fake boss I had made up previously so they wouldn't call my real one, and I tell her that Jack was the English name of a Korean guy I knew who spoke Korean, and thus thought could help me. Of all my bullshit, this had to be the easiest to believe, and she's satisfied.

We blow the proverbial popsicle stand and she takes me to lunch before work, assuring me that everything will be okay and that I need to be more careful about the people I meet. She also tells me I should only try to date girls at church, because the girls I meet downtown are "not to be trusted" and want "certain things". I could go on about all her other maternal habits, but that's one of my favorites, in addition to her telling me that I would have to go shopping in the girls' department because I was too skinny.

Now that matters with the police were over, the next week consisted of wrapping up a couple loose ends. First, I had to meet with the director of my school and give him a letter I wrote all about what happened and how sorry I was and how much I loved working 6 days a week at his school. The letter was in English, which he doesn't speak a word of, but his wife knows a little and seemed somewhat impressed. What really scored some points for me was when I threw some Korean at him, which he appreciated because according to my boss we were both "academic men". I also bought him a cake, because that seemed like a thing to do.

Next up was meeting with the old man one last time, to get a signed paper from him promising he wasn't going to press charges. My boss was really keen on this, so I went with, he signed it, and I bought him a cake too.

Oh, did I say matters with the police were over? Because I meant the exact opposite. I received a couple more calls from the detectives, each time asking if I had run into John or Christopher, or if I had their numbers, or knew where they might be. At first I thought (because I've seen The Shield) they were testing me, trying to trip me up in a contradiction, but now I think they're just bored. I became further convinced of their lack of pressing work (and general incompetence) when I get a call to meet one of the detectives on December 23rd, so we could go downtown and I could personally show the detective where I had last seen John and Christopher. A fairly quick rundown:

The detective picks me up at his apartment and drives me downtown. I'm determined not to inadvertently cause trouble for any of the bars I actually like, so I lead the way to Club G2, where douchebags go to dance and the staff are generally dicks. I'd been there before around the same timeframe as the roof-climbing, so logistically it made a pretty good scapegoat. The detective asks the guy working there, apparently the manager, if he's heard of "John" and "Christopher", if he's seen me before, the usual bullshit questions that have almost no chance of being of any worth. What I didn't count on is the manager replying that not only has he not heard of John or Christopher, but also claiming that he knows EVERY foreigner who comes in his club, and that I've never been there before. While you're mulling that over, additionally consider that my detective believed him.

Trust me on this or not, but I've been to G2 not once, but a few times. Now, I hadn't seen this particular guy before that I could recall, but to actually conclude that I've never been there because he personally knows EVERY foreigner that comes into his crowded dance club EVERY night? I was stunned and frankly admired his raw animal audacity. To top it off, this eidetic club manager more than anything or anyone else manages to make the detective suspect flaws in my story. Simply incredible. After this I decide to turn off the innocent naive angle I had been keeping up, and just went into flat-out confidence. I began correcting his English, asking him questions, showing off more of my Korean, and generally led the conversations. I also make him give me a ride to a department store, because I needed to pick up a secret santa gift.


Can you guess what I bought?

On the drive over, we have a conversation about StarCraft of all things (a topic brought up by my middle aged detective, lest there be any confusion). Turns out he plays Terran and Zerg, doesn't think he's very good but still has fun. Before I leave him, he shakes my hand and tells me that I'm a "good man", and that my boss told them that I'm a hard worker who puts a lot of time and effort into teaching. Either I'm even better at shmoozing than I imagined, or she lied through her teeth, but I'll take it.

So, a conclusion. This is where I should probably insert some huge personal revelation the entire experience gave me, and I'll admit I had a couple moments of deep soul-searching, wondering about the true nature of alcoholism, recklessness, manipulation, and deceit. But fuck that shit. Let's take inventory, shall we?

In the end I'm out 3 cakes (including one I bought for my boss after all was said and done), I didn't get deported, my boss now has a vested interest in keeping me around and in return I occasionally have to keep up a Christian facade. Alright, then. The moral of the story: Don't climb on roofs. Or something. I still have no clue what happened, or why, so maybe the moral of the story is do whatever you want, and there are no consequences except having to talk to incompetent police for a couple weeks. And you might have to buy a few cakes.


THE END until the next time i get arrested maybe

Jamie Gets Arrested: A Korean Saga

One night in December 2009, I got arrested. This is the story.

Now, I don't remember exactly which day it was, but it was definitely in the middle of the week, maybe a Wednesday. That sounds right to me; let's say Wednesday. So on this Wednesday, I wasn't planning to go out, and instead I was going to have a quiet night inside. With one exception: a Dunkin' Donuts had just opened up, and I felt that donuts would be sure to improve my night-in. It was on the walk over that I see some of my co-workers, who are on their way downtown. I was still fairly new, and not wanting to turn down an invitation I agreed to go to the bars. We end up going to a couple of bars, Ping and Who's Bob, and I discover that these guys do not freaking quit. I'm up to my elbows in shots, tossing back offered drinks, talking, having a fairly great time

and then I'm in a police station. It didn't feel like I woke up, more like my senses cleared enough to recognize that I was in a new and decidedly unfamiliar place. I was so drunk that I didn't even realize I was drunk, and my first thoughts were that surely whatever help the police needed from me was concluded, so I started asking the police if I could leave. They told me it would only be a few more minutes, and after I heard this a couple times I began wondering if I should just leave. I was sitting on a bench next to the door, I wasn't handcuffed or anything, and it was just about dawn outside. At this point it hadn't occurred to me that I might have done something to warrant being inside a police station, so I figured I would stay and ride out whatever they needed me for, and hopefully I would be back home in time to get some sleep. This being, of course, a work day. What feels like a long time passes (probably about half an hour in reality), and eventually I'm ushered into a car outside, where I'm driven to another, bigger police station.

Here, I wait on another bench for another long time, but I'm starting to sober up and it occurs to me that maybe I might actually be in trouble. This notion is exacerbated by two detectives who arrive (it being so early in the morning, the station is otherwise almost completely empty) and do a lot of head-shaking and snickering over whatever the previous cops tell them. I keep asking if I can go home, keep getting told to wait a few more minutes, but meanwhile my brain is switching over into survival mode. Unfortunately, I couldn't (and still can't) remember what I had actually done, which made coming up with a cover story exceedingly difficult. Finally I ask what I was even here for, and one of the detectives tells me in poor English that climbing on roofs is not okay.

Well alright. Now we're getting somewhere. I still didn't have any memory of whatever happened, but now I could start working on a story. And oh: what a story it was. You see, it was these two guys, John and Christopher. They were teachers, or so they told me, and I had met them at a concert in Bangogae previously. Because every good lie is rooted in truth, I used descriptions of two people I actually did meet at a show in Bangogae, although who the fuck remembers what their names actually were. Anyway, I had started out the night drinking with a couple of my coworkers (which, of course, they can verify if need be) but I saw John and Chris at the same bar. So, I left my coworkers (the truth, presumably) so I could hang out with these two fine fellas I had met once before. Now, we walk around (for quite a fucking while I'm to find, since apparently I was picked up at around 5am) and John says let's go to his house. He takes us to a house that he says is his, but it's just such a nice night he says, that we should go stargazing. Which is a very normal thing in America, you see. Why, back in America I would go up on my roof to look at the stars all the time. You know, to relax.

Well, wouldn't you know it, but we hear police sirens, and John and Chris climb down off the roof and run away! I'm left up on the roof all alone, confused and afraid, Officer Sir. I kept expecting old John and Chris to come back and explain things, but finally I got off that roof and it is at that point that the police took me to the police station. Shucks, I didn't even know I was arrested, what with them not speaking English and all.

Right about now is when one of the detectives would ask if I noticed the owner of the house, before the police came, outside shouting at me to get down. Well! He was shouting in Korean, and at the time I of course thought that the house was John's. A mistake as honest as they come.

Now, the story wasn't quite this detailed at first, but that was the general nuts and bolts, with more elaborations filled in as needed (and as I slowly picked up on more real facts from the incident). I sat in that police station for what felt like a good hour more, embellishing my tale and working up some quality fake tears for the detectives. I'm not proud of it, but actually I kind of am. It was some damn fine method work. However, either these detectives don't get a lot of hysterics or I was seriously misplaying things, because one of the detectives came over and asked, confused, why I was crying. So much for that.

Until, mind you, the owner of that house came by the station. He was an old man, in his 70s or near there if memory serves, and I really turned on the moist, penitent gazes for him. Not at first, since naturally I had no idea who he was, but once I was properly informed that, yes, it was his roof I had climbed on, I gave him all I had.

More time passes, and finally I'm loaded into a van with this guy and the detectives, and we drive to the house, where the cops take pictures of everything and ask me things like Where did you climb up, Was it here, Did you walk here, and I affirm what I can, trying my very best not to sound like a person making up an astonishing amount as they go along.

It is while they're taking pictures that I notice a fence with some Korean words painted on it, along with the letters "CCTV". The second I saw that I figured the ruse was all over and I'd be 2 days from deportation, but maybe the detectives didn't notice because no video ever surfaced that I'm aware of. But more on the general incompetence of Korean police later.

We get back to the station, I'm still in full naieve-patsy-shocked-by-these-events mode, at least until the house owner takes off somewhere, and the police have me sign some papers for their file. They ask me if I want to hire some sort of defense from the American consulate, which I'm apparently entitled to, but I decline, because I didn't want my school to get involved with this shit, and talking to the consulate seemed like it would muddy things up. It also didn't help that the detectives wanted someone to translate for me because their English was not up to par, so they kept asking for the name of my boss. I wasn't about to have them give my boss a call at (what was now) 9am to pick me up at a police station. I instead give them the name of a coworker who happened to be out of town so there was no way someone was going to answer his phone. However, since I did give them the name of my school, they insisted we drive by and see if she was there. I acquiesced, knowing that my school doesn't open till the afternoon.

On the drive to school, the detectives are asking me more questions, like how much I had to drink. I told them I had two beers, a Guinness and a Heineken or something like that. They laugh, and tell me that they can smell whiskey on my breath. It was probably true, but I call bullshit anyways and insist on a breathalyzer, on the hunch that they won't actually give me one. Score one for hunches! We get to the school, which is of course closed. I tell them that no one will come to open up the building for hours yet, and the detectives suggest that we wait in the car until they do. I insist that it is a terrifically stupid idea, especially since it is a work day and I would rather get in a couple hours sleep before I go and teach fucking kids, and finally they relent and drop me off at my apartment, leaving me with a scrap of paper with a phone number and a reminder to show up at the police station in a few days for a follow-up. They tell me that the case is no big deal, but still make me pinky-swear that I'll show up.

That's not a joke, the Korean police made me swear with our pinkies.

They also told me that they would not talk to anyone at my school, so everything could be handled privately.




Coming Soon! PART 2 of Jamie Gets Arrested: Korean police are goddamn liars.

Star Wars Shoes and Mexi-Staches Abound

Well now, whose handsome shoes might those be?


Skywalker? Why, those must be those stylish limited edition Star Wars Adidas shoes I've heard so much about! On my feet! Being owned by me! Fuck yeah! Story time:

I went to the store a couple weekends ago, but they said they were sold out in every size and didn't know when they would get restocked. Or at least, I think that's what they said, they were speaking fucking Korean. So I go back a week later, hoping against hope that they've got some more in stock, but imagine my dismay when I'm told that not only do they not have any US size 9, they don't have any shoes at all except for the one display pair. And since they're limited edition, that pair was going to be their last ever.

But I'm looking at those shoes, and they don't seem that small for a supposed US size 7 1/2...So I pull that display shoe down, and I'll be damned if it didn't look about the same size as the Vans I was wearing. Finally I decided I'd give it a shot and I slipped on that size 7 1/2, and instantly I felt like the nerdiest Cinderella there ever was. The shoe not only fit, but it fit perfectly. They also cost 140 bucks, but come on. It was like goddamn Fate telling me to buy these shoes.

Oh yeah, I also finally got pictures of the hookah bar we've been hanging out at, which is officially my favorite place in Korea. Unfortunately it slipped my mind to get photos of the whole place, but here's our table:


The plastic bag on the far right is one of those made-to-order bags of liquor I might have mentioned in my New Year's post. They cost about 4 or 5 bucks and get you de-runk. We snuck some of them in because we are assholes, but we also ordered a bunch of wine and cocktails so it is okay. I brought in some fast food wings once and still haven't heard the end of it.


Another shot of the cocktail-bag in the middle there, and a couple other people...


People like these delightful Korean girls. I talked a bunch with them in a weird drunk mix of Korean, English, and Japanese, and I think I was supposed to be set up with the one on the right, which would have been neat if that same drunkenness hadn't also made me forget to ask her number.

OH WELL here's an awful goatee that I had, to prove a point to a coworker about how awful it would be:


And on that note, I'm done. Hopefully at some point this month I'll be un-lazy enough to bang out my arrest story, but until feel free to leave a comment making fun of my inability to grow facial hair or something.

Lost Hats and Drunk Russians

Well so much for that whole posting more often thing. Regardless of my writing sloth, I do have stories to share, like this one regarding my past weekend. On Friday I get some barbecue after work with a couple coworkers, and I'm asked if I want to go downtown to the bars later. I think to myself, "Maybe just a drink or two," and the Universe proceeded to shoot space-milk out its nose laughing so hard.


Experts have created this reconstruction of the crime scene.

I get a call Saturday morning from my partner-in-crime, asking if I knew where her wallet was. I replied that maybe it was at the bar Who's Bob, since that was the last bar we were at. She informs me that, Who's Bob was most definitely not the last bar we were at. Uh oh. On my couch I find an unfamiliar brown scarf that must be my friend's, so I bring it to work and am informed that she's never seen it before.


I stole a stranger's scarf.

I somehow make it through work on Saturday and then try and fit in a nap before I have to go out again for a coworker's going-away party. Now, I was so out of it that I had forgotten to put on my hat that night, so imagine my surprise when the bartender comes up to me, with my hat I didn't even know was missing, and says that I left it there last night. Shit. I talk to my friend and get more details about this mysterious Friday, and I'm told the Pizza-in-a-Cup lady actually had her wallet. The Pizza-in-a-Cup lady, is of course, the lady who owns the street cart that sells tiny pizzas in paper cups. They are delicious and she is apparently a very trustworthy woman.

Now, this Saturday night I am being uncharacteristically prudent and sticking to only one drink, a Guinness from the tap. I have some sensible, boring conversations with my coworkers, including the one who's leaving, and I notice this really old guy with a huge camera hanging around. He's a hunched-over guy who must be at least in his 50s, and every time someone at our table takes a picture of someone, he insists on also taking the same picture with the big SLR around his neck. Since it isn't a Polaroid camera, I have to assume these pictures are for some personal collection that I don't want to know about.

Regardless, we mostly ignore him, until finally he brings over a couple shots of Jager. One shot for him, and one shot for my friend, whom I guess has caught his fancy. She doesn't quite know what do with his gift, so she offers the shot to the coworker leaving, it being his going-away party and all. Old Guy doesn't like that one bit, and proceeds to throw the second shot in coworker's face.

Oh yeah, things got interesting real quick. My coworker leaps out of his chair and shoves the guy, who is surprisingly spry for his age. He's on his feet and trying to fight back before half a dozen other people are up and holding the two apart. A lot of nasty words are thrown around, and some of them must have had a Slavic tinge because everyone starts screaming for "the Russian" to get the hell out. The bartender, shrewd businessman that he is, does not force him out, but instead makes him stand at the end of the bar by the door. Coworker, white shirt ruined and hair dripping with Jager, has understandably had enough and leaves the bar, with everyone in tow (although there is a delay due to another bitchy coworker who instead of leaving wanted to scream shrilly at the Russian for about 10 minutes).

Outside the bar, we find out that one member of our group, took a blow in the brouhaha and his lip is busted open. He heads off to the hospital for stitches, Mike goes to another bar, and I stay at Commune's with some other people for a comparatively unexciting half an hour, during which time the sad highlight is when My Bloody Valentine's "Sometimes" come on, when I had 5 minutes ago been thinking silently about requesting it. It was a pretty neat moment, before I went home and stayed up till 7am playing Dragon Age.

Oh, some non-weekend stuff that happened:

-I had a student lose a tooth in class. He went to the bathroom, came back, and didn't want to go to the office when I offered, saying that he was fine, it was just a tooth. My training didn't cover what to do in this situation, so I just went on with class. Next week: The story of how Jamie got sued.

-I'm thinking about buying a hedgehog after I saw one in a department store the other day. I always wanted one as a kid, but I'm a little worried the temptation to paint it blue would be too great.

-Apparently a bunch of Stormtroopers marched through downtown Daegu, and according to some sources, danced. This was all probably in promotion of the new Adidas Star Wars shoes, which are super sweet. Unfortunately, they were sold out of every size when I went to buy them. Fuck you, misleading Stormtrooper demonstration.


You will be mine. This I swear.