Monday, December 29, 2008

I Want to Punch Seomyeon in the Face

Seomyeon sort of looks like what would happen if you gave a 3 year old a pack of crayons and asked them to design a city centre. The streets are windy, disordered, end unexpectedly, littered with trash, and frequently adorned with pissing old men. At 9am. Because if you can't take a piss on the street at 9am, when can you?

I'm back. I've only been back for a week, but from the moment the passed out old man on the subway spat out his dentures, I felt like I'd never left.

I don't have internet hooked up in my roach infested apartment just yet. Until then I'll be posting infrequently from my beloved PC Bang (internet cafe). I haven't seen a single unbathed gamer in here since my first visit two days ago. I'm confused as to how they stay in business, but unconcerned so long as they stay in business for me.

I'll likely post some New Year's thoughts over the next few days. They'll probably be bubbly and disgusting, because I've gone all Molly Fucking Sunshine on my own ass over the past few months.

Is it possible to be Molly Fucking Sunshine while punching Seomyeon in the face? Cause I am.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Grave Mistake

My friend and I purchased an assortment of flowers and made our way to the largest graveyard in town with the intention of visiting the plot of our friend who passed away in the last year. It was supposed to be his birthday. The flowers were the friend's idea; those are the sort of things that really don't occur to me. The lady behind the desk at in the cometary office scanned the information on her screen, looked up at us, and scanned the screen again, hoping that she was mistaken. Surely The Flower Girls didn't actually show up at the wrong graveyard?

This particular graveyard has seemed like the logical place for our friend to be buried. Not only was it the largest in town, but it was the nearest one to downtown, our place of meeting that day. His being there would just be so convenient. It made sense. So, of course we were mistaken. This is probably one of those things that you really ought to look into before investing your time and energy into a graveyard visit, but somehow it just never dawned on us to check.

The lady behind the desk likely felt sorry for our dumbasses and took it on herself to contact every other cemetery in town. After the last call turned up negative, my friend reminded me that our friend was cremated. In which case, given that they haven't been memoralized at a cemetery in town, they've likely been spread or are hanging out in a closet somewhere.

It had been in the back of my mind all day that an acquaintance, and good friend of my good friend, was also buried at that particular cemetery. I had intended on visiting his plot anyways, though I can't promise that flowers were going to be part of the bargain. None the less, I hope that his next visitors like them.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

No, Your Accent is Broken.

Taxi, cab, or taxicab? If you chose the third option, you're not wrong, but I don't like it. The other two I use interchangeably. Apparently I'm broken for doing so.

Last Tuesday around 4am, the following conversation probably took place :

Me: *on phone* Hey, could I please get two taxis in front of the Pita Pit?
Random Townie: Taxi?!
Me: *waving Random Townie off; still on phone* Yes, two taxis in front of the Pita Pit. Thank you!
Random Townie: Seriously, taxi? What are you, a fucking Yankee?
Me: Dude, they're called taxis.
Random Townie: They're called fucking cabs, Yank.
Me: *waving the rest of the room to attention* Taxi or cab? Or taxicab?
The Peanut Gallery: Cab. Cab. Cab.
Me: Whatever, Townies.

I don't understand why I'm not invited to more parties.

I later consulted with Random Cabbie, who thought my line of questioning regarding what he preferred to call his vehicle was Funny Talk. He, too, did not approve of my use of taxi.

Four points must be made from this:

First, I probably do sound more like an American than when I left Canada last October. I had a number of American friends in Korea, they speak funny, I have a tendency to adopt the mannerisms of those around me, hence I now speak funny, too. Of course, by that I mean that Everybody Else now speaks funny. I happen to sound quite excellent, thanks.

Second, Americans have been known to talk funny in all kinds of different ways. Which one am I resembling when I say "taxi"? Do I sound like I'm from New York? The Mid-West? Alaska? What part of the country am mimicking?

Third, there's nothing wrong with sporting an American accent. Americans speak funny in perfectly acceptable ways, and this is one of the many reasons why we love them. Wait, we don't? Right, I forgot: Here in Canuckistan, it is my duty to spout anti-American rhetoric while munching down on a Big Mac and wondering which Hollywood movie I should see next.
Culture shock is clearly responsible for my failure to accept the more retarded points of Canadian culture without question. I'm going to go munch on some Doritos and watch NBC as I ponder this conundrum.

Finally, taxi is not an American Thing, Random Townie. You too, Random Cabbie. Cab is a Townie thing. The two can be used interchangeably here in Canuckistan, as they are in the United States. Different regions may be more prone to using one or the other, but nothing about the word "taxi" links it to a particular accent. It's not fuckin' "eh", for Christ's sake. I know this after conducting a very scientific survey on facebook, where everybody who wasn't wrong agreed with me on the matter, rendering Random Townie's entire point retarded.

I probably sound more like an American than I used to, but not because I say "taxi".

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Passing Change.

The first time I was handed a wad of bills with my change set neatly on top of it, I ended up dropping my change all over the floor and wondering who the Hell doesn't pass the change separately. A year of practice later, and I can't figure out why nobody working a register in Ontario seems to be able to collect the change from the top of the bill pile without dropping it all over the floor.

Everybody Else may be broken.