It's a little weird that my first post about Open Mic Night is one in which I don't actually perform on the Open Mic, but that's the world we live in I guess. I would love to be able to link a video of me butchering "Bad Romance" here, however the way it worked out is I was there for about 2 hours drinking whiskey and Guinness while other guys played and finally some douchebag hogged the mic for half an hour and my only friend there was too tired to stay, so I didn't play anything. Seriously, this douchebag was the kind of guy who plays Sublime songs, and Rob Thomas' part of "Smooth" at Open Mic. A fucking prick.
While busy ignoring his Top 40-ing, I was propositioned by a bisexual Tasmanian girl, who was in the very curious position of an open Korean marriage. Until now I had thought it impossible, but no, here was a girl actually married to a Korean guy who was (supposedly) okay with her asking if I wanted to fuck her in the bar. Of course, I argued that we would probably get kicked out, and it's such a good bar, but she seemed more interested in my coworker anyways, who I imagine earlier would have claimed to not be interested in women, but now she's had a few glasses of whiskey and got busy kissing Tasmanian girl's cleavage, which was reciprocated in kind. This went on for about 5 minutes, girls drunkenly smashing their tits up against each others and making out with the others' bra lines, but eventually we did manage the sisyphean task of leaving the bar.
Being the nice guy I am, I escorted the same coworker to a 24-hour fast food place where she got a bowl of Bibimbap, and then took her to another coworker's place where she passed out on the couch, and I watched the end of Last of the Mohicans while sipping on my umpteenth whiskey of the night.
So, that was my Open Mic night. The first one I didn't actually perform at. Seriously, next time I'll have a story or video or something about screaming a punk cover of Lady Gaga, but until then you'll just have to make do with bisexual Tasmanian wives and Last of the Mohicans.
Sorry.
Love, Jamie.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Darts.
Well, I said I'd post more so here we are. My night:
-After a busy night of eating fried chicken and watching Arrested Development DVDs in my apartment, I am invited out to play darts. It is tough to tear myself away, but I agree.
-I throw some shitty games, but get better the more I drink as is often the case. I order some "Nachos", which turn out to be a plate of stale chips next to a cup of cold cheese dip.
-At the end of the night, around 2AM, I'm getting ready to leave with my friends but am persuaded to stay with a free shot of Jager. I talk to the guy who gave me the shot for awhile, but then talk to another girl I kind of sort of know from Open Mic nights, while Jager shot guy leaves.
-Turns out this girl is from Briston and used to date Mushroom from Massive Attack, which is kind of neat. Too bad she doesn't like Massive Attack, and says he was an asshole. Oh Well.
-We continue to talk for the rest of the night, until all of a sudden we're in a Burger King and it's 5:30AM, so we get a cab home.
-I write a blog post about my mundane night because otherwise I would feel guilty about not updating.
Paaaaaar-tay.
-After a busy night of eating fried chicken and watching Arrested Development DVDs in my apartment, I am invited out to play darts. It is tough to tear myself away, but I agree.
-I throw some shitty games, but get better the more I drink as is often the case. I order some "Nachos", which turn out to be a plate of stale chips next to a cup of cold cheese dip.
-At the end of the night, around 2AM, I'm getting ready to leave with my friends but am persuaded to stay with a free shot of Jager. I talk to the guy who gave me the shot for awhile, but then talk to another girl I kind of sort of know from Open Mic nights, while Jager shot guy leaves.
-Turns out this girl is from Briston and used to date Mushroom from Massive Attack, which is kind of neat. Too bad she doesn't like Massive Attack, and says he was an asshole. Oh Well.
-We continue to talk for the rest of the night, until all of a sudden we're in a Burger King and it's 5:30AM, so we get a cab home.
-I write a blog post about my mundane night because otherwise I would feel guilty about not updating.
Paaaaaar-tay.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Another day.
Dear Diary,
Today I went to a coworker's apartment and sketched her naked. She was pleased with my work and then I went home.
Love, Jamie
Today I went to a coworker's apartment and sketched her naked. She was pleased with my work and then I went home.
Love, Jamie
Thursday, January 7, 2010
New Years Whooo
Alright, I've been promising the story of my New Years for about a week now, so here it is. Resolution: Update more often, I guess. Also update when I say I will? I dunno. What I DO know is that I mostly remember what happened, I've got a can of Guinness poured into a measuring cup (because it's the only clear glass I own), and I'm ready to narrate.
It is literally insane that I do not get laid more often.
So, Korean New Years Eve! I start the night off heading to one of my favorite spots here, a bar called Commune's, at about 10 to midnight because those who know me will tell you I am obsessed with punctuality. I get a shot of SoCo (actually I trade someone for their shot because I accidentally got a shot of Jager through a hilarious mixup) and toss it back at the stroke of midnight with about half a dozen of my coworkers. There are kisses all around, and we get into the drinking proper. Before I came out, I drank this little wonder:
It's a hangover prevention drink that I've tried once before, and while it worked that time, I want to really put it to the test. You know, make sure it wasn't a fluke. For science.
I'm treated to my first drink by a coworker whose name I still haven't figured out, so I order a Jameson, neat. There's a Pearl Jam/Green Day cover band playing and the place is packed, so I go mingle with some Korean strangers I'm introduced to. It's over at their table I notice none other than Scary Korean Metal Guy from Club Heavy, with all the face piercings and the mohawk and the Lennon glasses. Remember him, from famed local Korean death metal band Axcutor? Well he's hanging out in a corner, and I cautiously attempt conversation with him in broken Konglish, but he's having none of it. He's hanging out with people from some of the other bands playing, and I guess I'm just not on his radar.
One day, Axcutor. One day.
Fuck him! Whoo Commune's! (It's really crowded)
After that someone passes around a bottle of Jameson, of which I am ordered to take a healthy swig and do so promptly. I buy the next round, which turns out to be Jameson & Gingers, thus preventing any sort of dangerous Irish whiskey anemia I might have had. To change things up I follow the Jameson & Ginger with a Black Russian, and then we're off to another club called Urban.
Urban is just as crowded but filled with more douchebags, shittier music, and pricier drinks, which means foreigners just fucking love it. I order a whiskey coke or some shit at the bar and watch some American GIs play an awful game of pool and talk to my cohorts. I'm felt up from behind by some girl who, when she sees me turn around, is all of a sudden not convinced she knows me. I have no clue who she is, but make The Most Awkward Smile and suggest maybe we met when we were "real drunk", an explanation that seems to satisfy her. I then order another Black Russian and talk to a couple of teetotaller coworkers who just showed up and proceed to be the Sober people in the group.
After they've had their fill of not-drinking and probably judging the shit out of everyone and are about to leave, they offer to split the cab home with me and I agree. You know, quit while I'm ahead, before I've climbed any roofs. However, this decision doesn't sit well with another coworker, who in her enthusiasm for me to stay spills my half-empty Black Russian. She argues that now I have to stay so that she can buy me another drink, which seemed like flawless logic at the time.
The non-drinkers leave, and I am bought a Bass or Becks or some beer that starts with a B. My coworker wanders out of sight and out of mind until I'm approached by another coworker I've been hanging out with from the beginning of the night, who insists I watch her take pictures of Black Russian-spilling-coworker "totally having sex with this guy". She leads me, bewildered and more than a little intrigued, to the dance floor where the girl in question is indeed making out with a guy who (in her own words) reminds one of Borat. Non-making-out coworker circles them with her camera, photographing the scene, while I finish my beer. While I'm talking about her, I was taking a few pictures of my own that night, and I can't help but notice that she has the exact same expression in every picture I took with her. Observe:
Eerie.
Clearly I wasn't drunk enough yet, so I bellied up to the bar for, I dunno, my 80th drink of the night. This time I was craving something a little more exotic, so I skimmed a cocktail menu and decided to chance their Mojito. Turns out it tasted pretty awful, but finishing the drink had to be put on hold while I talked to some other people who turns out worked at the same company, but a different branch in Daegu. The big one (and presumably Alpha) of the group and I made some unremarkable small talk, until he asked me where I was from. I replied Seattle, to which he responded, "Seattle! Oh, so, are you gay?"
I was understandably taken aback, but I've faced down my share of homophobes before, so I mustered all the razor wit I could muster and replied: "Not everyone from Seattle is gay, you know."
Oh yeah, he'll feel that one in the morning, while calling his parents and reassessing his entire worldview. Or, he would have, except the next thing he says is "Actually, I just ask because I'm gay."
Motherfucker. Did he just turn me into a homophobe? Before I can start reevaluating my life too deeply, this gay fellow buys a round of Jager Bombs and insists I drink one with him. I accept, as anyone would, lest I insult his honor. These things are important, goddammit. So we pound the drinks, and at the end the modest bastard has to point out that he beat me by about a second. We talk a little more while I switch back to my neglected Mojito, and then a couple girls from work approach me about going dancing at another club.
By this point our friend has disappeared with Borat, gay Jager guy is back to Jager Bombs and light conversation with his own coworkers, so I say fuck it, grab my drink, and lead the way to Club Frog. Public drinking is really freaking cool, by the way. Anyways, on the way we pass Viniroo, a small establishment that sells big Capri Sun-like plastic bags full of made-to-order cocktails. Really fucking strong cocktails, perfect for walking around with. Well, of course we stop in and get some bags for our journey. I order a bag of Singapore Sling, and in the meantime talk to a French guy who starts feeling up my hands and forearm, trying to discern if I'm a "hard worker." I attempt some drunken French with him, which he condescendingly tolerates, probably waiting out another chance to molest my forearms. I finish the Mojito I brought just in time to receive my big ol' bag of Singapore Sling, and one coworker finishes up her flirting with the pretty Korean bartender, and we take off.
In my state, leading the way is a sisyphean task of concentration and sheer grit, not helped by how the same coworker keeps breaking off and yelling at Korean pedestrians for directions in English, but I triumph and we arrive at Club Frog, silently crowning myself a modern Odysseus. Inside, it's a whole new level of crowded, and I marvel at how people tolerate being in a dancing club where you don't even have room to move. We all dance as well as we can in the circumstances, which amounted to mostly a lot of off-balance swaying in place. Anyways, one thing leads to another, as they do, and one of the girls and I make out for a bit, until my need to pee becomes far more important of an urge. I have to leave the dance floor to find the bathroom, and out in the lobby area I take a seat and a moment to assess things. I also try to flirt in Korean with a couple girls next to me, but the less said about that travesty the better.
The situation as I saw it: on one hand, making out with a coworker could only lead to trouble and despair, absolutely. On the other hand, making out is fun and I was druuuuuuuuuuunk. So, I did what every wise man has done in similar situations from the beginning of time, namely I asked a Korean guy sitting next to me to call a coin flip. He didn't speak English, but such wasn't necessary for my purposes. He called heads, and the coin came up tails. I decided this meant ditching the girls and going home, which I did, after texting them something about not being let back into the club. I grabbed a taxi, got back to my apartment and finally, after One Million drinks, passed the fuck out in bed.
HAPPY NEW YEARS
Oh yeah, and that hangover prevention stuff? Tastes like mean bullshit, but it worked a charm.
It is literally insane that I do not get laid more often.
So, Korean New Years Eve! I start the night off heading to one of my favorite spots here, a bar called Commune's, at about 10 to midnight because those who know me will tell you I am obsessed with punctuality. I get a shot of SoCo (actually I trade someone for their shot because I accidentally got a shot of Jager through a hilarious mixup) and toss it back at the stroke of midnight with about half a dozen of my coworkers. There are kisses all around, and we get into the drinking proper. Before I came out, I drank this little wonder:
It's a hangover prevention drink that I've tried once before, and while it worked that time, I want to really put it to the test. You know, make sure it wasn't a fluke. For science.
I'm treated to my first drink by a coworker whose name I still haven't figured out, so I order a Jameson, neat. There's a Pearl Jam/Green Day cover band playing and the place is packed, so I go mingle with some Korean strangers I'm introduced to. It's over at their table I notice none other than Scary Korean Metal Guy from Club Heavy, with all the face piercings and the mohawk and the Lennon glasses. Remember him, from famed local Korean death metal band Axcutor? Well he's hanging out in a corner, and I cautiously attempt conversation with him in broken Konglish, but he's having none of it. He's hanging out with people from some of the other bands playing, and I guess I'm just not on his radar.
One day, Axcutor. One day.
Fuck him! Whoo Commune's! (It's really crowded)
After that someone passes around a bottle of Jameson, of which I am ordered to take a healthy swig and do so promptly. I buy the next round, which turns out to be Jameson & Gingers, thus preventing any sort of dangerous Irish whiskey anemia I might have had. To change things up I follow the Jameson & Ginger with a Black Russian, and then we're off to another club called Urban.
Urban is just as crowded but filled with more douchebags, shittier music, and pricier drinks, which means foreigners just fucking love it. I order a whiskey coke or some shit at the bar and watch some American GIs play an awful game of pool and talk to my cohorts. I'm felt up from behind by some girl who, when she sees me turn around, is all of a sudden not convinced she knows me. I have no clue who she is, but make The Most Awkward Smile and suggest maybe we met when we were "real drunk", an explanation that seems to satisfy her. I then order another Black Russian and talk to a couple of teetotaller coworkers who just showed up and proceed to be the Sober people in the group.
After they've had their fill of not-drinking and probably judging the shit out of everyone and are about to leave, they offer to split the cab home with me and I agree. You know, quit while I'm ahead, before I've climbed any roofs. However, this decision doesn't sit well with another coworker, who in her enthusiasm for me to stay spills my half-empty Black Russian. She argues that now I have to stay so that she can buy me another drink, which seemed like flawless logic at the time.
The non-drinkers leave, and I am bought a Bass or Becks or some beer that starts with a B. My coworker wanders out of sight and out of mind until I'm approached by another coworker I've been hanging out with from the beginning of the night, who insists I watch her take pictures of Black Russian-spilling-coworker "totally having sex with this guy". She leads me, bewildered and more than a little intrigued, to the dance floor where the girl in question is indeed making out with a guy who (in her own words) reminds one of Borat. Non-making-out coworker circles them with her camera, photographing the scene, while I finish my beer. While I'm talking about her, I was taking a few pictures of my own that night, and I can't help but notice that she has the exact same expression in every picture I took with her. Observe:
Eerie.
Clearly I wasn't drunk enough yet, so I bellied up to the bar for, I dunno, my 80th drink of the night. This time I was craving something a little more exotic, so I skimmed a cocktail menu and decided to chance their Mojito. Turns out it tasted pretty awful, but finishing the drink had to be put on hold while I talked to some other people who turns out worked at the same company, but a different branch in Daegu. The big one (and presumably Alpha) of the group and I made some unremarkable small talk, until he asked me where I was from. I replied Seattle, to which he responded, "Seattle! Oh, so, are you gay?"
I was understandably taken aback, but I've faced down my share of homophobes before, so I mustered all the razor wit I could muster and replied: "Not everyone from Seattle is gay, you know."
Oh yeah, he'll feel that one in the morning, while calling his parents and reassessing his entire worldview. Or, he would have, except the next thing he says is "Actually, I just ask because I'm gay."
Motherfucker. Did he just turn me into a homophobe? Before I can start reevaluating my life too deeply, this gay fellow buys a round of Jager Bombs and insists I drink one with him. I accept, as anyone would, lest I insult his honor. These things are important, goddammit. So we pound the drinks, and at the end the modest bastard has to point out that he beat me by about a second. We talk a little more while I switch back to my neglected Mojito, and then a couple girls from work approach me about going dancing at another club.
By this point our friend has disappeared with Borat, gay Jager guy is back to Jager Bombs and light conversation with his own coworkers, so I say fuck it, grab my drink, and lead the way to Club Frog. Public drinking is really freaking cool, by the way. Anyways, on the way we pass Viniroo, a small establishment that sells big Capri Sun-like plastic bags full of made-to-order cocktails. Really fucking strong cocktails, perfect for walking around with. Well, of course we stop in and get some bags for our journey. I order a bag of Singapore Sling, and in the meantime talk to a French guy who starts feeling up my hands and forearm, trying to discern if I'm a "hard worker." I attempt some drunken French with him, which he condescendingly tolerates, probably waiting out another chance to molest my forearms. I finish the Mojito I brought just in time to receive my big ol' bag of Singapore Sling, and one coworker finishes up her flirting with the pretty Korean bartender, and we take off.
In my state, leading the way is a sisyphean task of concentration and sheer grit, not helped by how the same coworker keeps breaking off and yelling at Korean pedestrians for directions in English, but I triumph and we arrive at Club Frog, silently crowning myself a modern Odysseus. Inside, it's a whole new level of crowded, and I marvel at how people tolerate being in a dancing club where you don't even have room to move. We all dance as well as we can in the circumstances, which amounted to mostly a lot of off-balance swaying in place. Anyways, one thing leads to another, as they do, and one of the girls and I make out for a bit, until my need to pee becomes far more important of an urge. I have to leave the dance floor to find the bathroom, and out in the lobby area I take a seat and a moment to assess things. I also try to flirt in Korean with a couple girls next to me, but the less said about that travesty the better.
The situation as I saw it: on one hand, making out with a coworker could only lead to trouble and despair, absolutely. On the other hand, making out is fun and I was druuuuuuuuuuunk. So, I did what every wise man has done in similar situations from the beginning of time, namely I asked a Korean guy sitting next to me to call a coin flip. He didn't speak English, but such wasn't necessary for my purposes. He called heads, and the coin came up tails. I decided this meant ditching the girls and going home, which I did, after texting them something about not being let back into the club. I grabbed a taxi, got back to my apartment and finally, after One Million drinks, passed the fuck out in bed.
HAPPY NEW YEARS
Oh yeah, and that hangover prevention stuff? Tastes like mean bullshit, but it worked a charm.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
DAEGU HO!
Here's a New Year's Resolution: more posting in this thing, maybe. Also at some point the arrest story. BUT FIRST and more importantly, the story of how I got to Daegu! When last we left our intrepid hero, I had just finished training, and had to indeed lug all my luggage to the training center for the last day. After we finished and were given our contracts, I am basically given a ticket, a taxi, and a time to catch my train. Of course, I misread the time for my train (military time?! what is this, a 3rd world country?!) which leads to a very stressful 10 minutes in my taxi, only to get to the station and realize my mistake. I spend the next couple hours monstrously hungry but too paranoid to leave my baggage, and use my laptop to fuck around on the internet and pray I'm even getting on the right train.
Well, I do, and I spend the train ride watching some-movie-or-other on my mp3 player, which funny story is also Korean. That's the story, my mp3 player is Korean. At the Daegu station I'm met by someone who I hope is really from my school, because I'm totally not in the mood to get scammed for 160 bucks again. That would be pretty lame. BUT! The Korean dude is legit, and he drives me to my apartment. Most cars here I've found have this GPS/Media player device on the dashboard, and during the ride he uses one to show me this:
I am informed that this blonde fellow is a Genius, and my 32-year old driver is a big fan. After more light conversation in broken English about G-Dragon, we get to my apartment where I'm shown how to work my heating, I don't understand at all, and then I'm whisked to the academy where I'll be working for the next year.
At the school I'm given some towels, fruit, and a sandwich which my overly-maternal boss insists I eat while she watches. There's some action with my contract, and then I'm taken back to my apartment and which point oh fuck it PICTURE TIME:
Oh, hello! I almost didn't hear you come in to my FABULOUS KOREAN APARTMENT. Why yes, this is a pink apron the last tenant left behind that I'm wearing, so kind of you to notice!
Living room central! From here you can see the sliding doors to my bedroom on the left, and my patio/washing room on the right! Also, couch and TV! Yes!
3 locks and a peephole on my door! Double yes!
Next to my living room we have my kitchen, with bathroom on the left and bedroom on the right. I know you're jealous of my pillows, and that is okay.
Bedroom!
Free condiments! Score!
A shower that isn't separated from the toilet! Uh...neat.
And that shower points directly at an open electrical socket! Wow, that's spectacularly dangerous!
Free Thai bootleg DVDs! ...And no DVD player! Surely the parade of free stuff the previous tenant left will never end?
Uh oh. Ever walked 10 blocks downtown through a foreign city carrying a jumbo pack of toilet paper? Oh man is it super fun. Just a great time.
But at least I got sweet Christmas lights around my bedroom window! Some awesome adult times are gonna be had here, maybe!
Well, I'm running out of old pictures of my apartment to share, so I'll leave you with this fun bit from my last day of training - we got the medical results from our physicals back, and we had all passed but I noticed my results had this little note in Korean where no one else's did:
So if you can read Korean, you now know something weird about my body! I bet it has to do with my urine!
Until next time!
Well, I do, and I spend the train ride watching some-movie-or-other on my mp3 player, which funny story is also Korean. That's the story, my mp3 player is Korean. At the Daegu station I'm met by someone who I hope is really from my school, because I'm totally not in the mood to get scammed for 160 bucks again. That would be pretty lame. BUT! The Korean dude is legit, and he drives me to my apartment. Most cars here I've found have this GPS/Media player device on the dashboard, and during the ride he uses one to show me this:
I am informed that this blonde fellow is a Genius, and my 32-year old driver is a big fan. After more light conversation in broken English about G-Dragon, we get to my apartment where I'm shown how to work my heating, I don't understand at all, and then I'm whisked to the academy where I'll be working for the next year.
At the school I'm given some towels, fruit, and a sandwich which my overly-maternal boss insists I eat while she watches. There's some action with my contract, and then I'm taken back to my apartment and which point oh fuck it PICTURE TIME:
Oh, hello! I almost didn't hear you come in to my FABULOUS KOREAN APARTMENT. Why yes, this is a pink apron the last tenant left behind that I'm wearing, so kind of you to notice!
Living room central! From here you can see the sliding doors to my bedroom on the left, and my patio/washing room on the right! Also, couch and TV! Yes!
3 locks and a peephole on my door! Double yes!
Next to my living room we have my kitchen, with bathroom on the left and bedroom on the right. I know you're jealous of my pillows, and that is okay.
Bedroom!
Free condiments! Score!
A shower that isn't separated from the toilet! Uh...neat.
And that shower points directly at an open electrical socket! Wow, that's spectacularly dangerous!
Free Thai bootleg DVDs! ...And no DVD player! Surely the parade of free stuff the previous tenant left will never end?
Uh oh. Ever walked 10 blocks downtown through a foreign city carrying a jumbo pack of toilet paper? Oh man is it super fun. Just a great time.
But at least I got sweet Christmas lights around my bedroom window! Some awesome adult times are gonna be had here, maybe!
Well, I'm running out of old pictures of my apartment to share, so I'll leave you with this fun bit from my last day of training - we got the medical results from our physicals back, and we had all passed but I noticed my results had this little note in Korean where no one else's did:
So if you can read Korean, you now know something weird about my body! I bet it has to do with my urine!
Until next time!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Training Week
Alright. I know a lot of you are probably expecting me to talk about my recent arrest, and while that's certainly a story I will eventually share, right now I want to get caught up in my timeline. It's my blog, screw you! However, where I last left off my week of training was starting, and since that was boring and tiring I'm just going to throw some random anecdotes and funny pictures at you, my darling readers. Enjoy!
-Some stuff about sex: massage parlors (both legit and otherwise) will often advertise themselves with a barber pole out front. You can insert whatever sexy haircut joke pleases you here. Brothels also like to advertise themselves as coffee shops where you can "rest", because one often associates rest with caffeine. So if you ever wander into a dimly lit cafe and the old woman in a fancy dress working there scowls at you when you order coffee, congratulations because you could be paying for sex! Another thing to watch out for is parking a car on a busy downtown street at night:
Because soon your windows will be covered in little prostitute business cards, like the fliers on a Vegas street. This car got off lucky compared to some of the others I saw completely covered with these little porn ads.
-Korea is a really big leg culture, so even if it's 20 degrees out you'll still see girls in miniskirts and hot pants. It's kind of wonderful, but also sad because none of them have an ass. A girl in my training made the interesting observation that it is specifically because these girls have no ass that they can wear such short skirts, because they don't have to worry about them riding up. Very interesting.
-I would leave the spice channel on in my room because, well, what else was I going to do in a love hotel room, and I happened to catch a weird porno where the actors seemed to be text messaging other people on their cell phones during sex. It was kind of awkward and off-putting. That's the story.
-I got an elderly Korean woman's number! The jist: I was getting food with a couple of my coworkers, and we were accosted by an old woman who insisted we go in the restaurant next to her. We didn't give the slightest of fucks, so we ate there and came back out. Being considerate foreign strangers, when we saw her outside I told her the place was pretty alright, which was apparently a cue for her to launch into a series of questions wherein she tried to recruit me as an English tutor. She was asking for my name, nationality, phone number, how much I charged, and when I said I didn't know the answer to (most of) these, she gave me her name and number like so:
(Numbers lazily blacked out to protect the innocent)
Of course, teaching outside my company would be in violation of my visa, but there's always a good chance I'll get deported anyways RITE GUYS?! If I'm ever back in Seoul, maybe I'll give her strange ass a ring. It's not like I could get in MORE trouble, our narrator typed, knowing exactly how much more damn trouble he could get into.
And that was a weird thing that happened in the middle of the street. So, a week went by and on the last night of training all of us went out for dinner and drinks and received this rad pitcher of beer:
wherein the beer is kept cool by dry ice. I thought it was pretty fucking neat. Anyways, the next day I passed my training and hopped on the train to Daegu, so my next post will finally have pictures of my apartment and hilaaaaarious stories about teaching little Korean kids. Or maybe I'll spill the arrest story for you vultures, who knows. But right now, I say farewell to Seoul and the Hotel Major, with your illicit salaryman affairs passing through at all hours!
We had some good times, old boy.
-Some stuff about sex: massage parlors (both legit and otherwise) will often advertise themselves with a barber pole out front. You can insert whatever sexy haircut joke pleases you here. Brothels also like to advertise themselves as coffee shops where you can "rest", because one often associates rest with caffeine. So if you ever wander into a dimly lit cafe and the old woman in a fancy dress working there scowls at you when you order coffee, congratulations because you could be paying for sex! Another thing to watch out for is parking a car on a busy downtown street at night:
Because soon your windows will be covered in little prostitute business cards, like the fliers on a Vegas street. This car got off lucky compared to some of the others I saw completely covered with these little porn ads.
-Korea is a really big leg culture, so even if it's 20 degrees out you'll still see girls in miniskirts and hot pants. It's kind of wonderful, but also sad because none of them have an ass. A girl in my training made the interesting observation that it is specifically because these girls have no ass that they can wear such short skirts, because they don't have to worry about them riding up. Very interesting.
-I would leave the spice channel on in my room because, well, what else was I going to do in a love hotel room, and I happened to catch a weird porno where the actors seemed to be text messaging other people on their cell phones during sex. It was kind of awkward and off-putting. That's the story.
-I got an elderly Korean woman's number! The jist: I was getting food with a couple of my coworkers, and we were accosted by an old woman who insisted we go in the restaurant next to her. We didn't give the slightest of fucks, so we ate there and came back out. Being considerate foreign strangers, when we saw her outside I told her the place was pretty alright, which was apparently a cue for her to launch into a series of questions wherein she tried to recruit me as an English tutor. She was asking for my name, nationality, phone number, how much I charged, and when I said I didn't know the answer to (most of) these, she gave me her name and number like so:
(Numbers lazily blacked out to protect the innocent)
Of course, teaching outside my company would be in violation of my visa, but there's always a good chance I'll get deported anyways RITE GUYS?! If I'm ever back in Seoul, maybe I'll give her strange ass a ring. It's not like I could get in MORE trouble, our narrator typed, knowing exactly how much more damn trouble he could get into.
And that was a weird thing that happened in the middle of the street. So, a week went by and on the last night of training all of us went out for dinner and drinks and received this rad pitcher of beer:
wherein the beer is kept cool by dry ice. I thought it was pretty fucking neat. Anyways, the next day I passed my training and hopped on the train to Daegu, so my next post will finally have pictures of my apartment and hilaaaaarious stories about teaching little Korean kids. Or maybe I'll spill the arrest story for you vultures, who knows. But right now, I say farewell to Seoul and the Hotel Major, with your illicit salaryman affairs passing through at all hours!
We had some good times, old boy.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
After only a month and a half, I'm almost done with my first week of stories. Yay!
Alright, let's keep this semi-productive journalistic streak going!
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.
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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