In exchange for my bailing on Monday's trip to Gyeongju, my friend Diana passed along the message that Zen Kimchi had nominated Big White Barbie Does Busan for one of the The Golden Klog Awards.
(While neither of these things actually had anything to do with the other, and they didn't even happen in that order, I see no reason that my penchant for exaggeration or rampant fact manipulation ought to stop now)
I bailed on the Gyeongju trip, not because I'm a total dick, but because I was busy being sad and eating Burger King. Tragically, Burger King screwed up my Whopper with bacon and cheese by putting mayonnaise on it. You may think that it's the other way around, that I screwed up my order. This is true if you don't qualify mayonnaise as "sauce". I bet they wouldn't have screwed up my Whopper in Gyeongju. There's totally a Burger King there, right?
Describing at length that Burger King screwed up my food, the painful dialogue I exchanged with some douchebag at the bar, how much nail polish I bought last time I was sad, which student has the most inappropriate nickname, and how my broken face has had surprisingly little effect on the number of fratboys that speak to me, is more or less what I do. Should my vapid, self absorbed, occasionally bitchy and possibly cynical examination of my life in Korea not quite be your cup of tea, peruse some of the other blogs that were nominated for The Golden Klog Awards. There are undoubtedly blogs much better than mine own that weren't even nominated, but The Klogs are a good place to start.
Much thanks to Zen Kimchi for the nomination, Diana for calling it to my attention, and Roboseyo for putting it all together.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Reason 37 to Go to Japan Next Contract
Workers Urged: Go Home and Multiply
Go home and multiply? Really, CNN? Really, Japan?! This is the kind of CNN tripe that I fucking live for; the sole purpose of my checking that site on a daily basis is to come across retarded headlines such as this.
While this particular measure obviously wouldn't pertain to me (a lowly Canadian English teacher, who is unlikely to be of much use in pumping Japan full of little Japanese babies) it works out well for those working at Canon, Tokyo.
Hats off, Canon. While I'm not sure how encouraging your employees to go home and fuck got passed the HR department, I imagine that they're too busy running home for Breeding Time to care.
Go home and multiply? Really, CNN? Really, Japan?! This is the kind of CNN tripe that I fucking live for; the sole purpose of my checking that site on a daily basis is to come across retarded headlines such as this.
While this particular measure obviously wouldn't pertain to me (a lowly Canadian English teacher, who is unlikely to be of much use in pumping Japan full of little Japanese babies) it works out well for those working at Canon, Tokyo.
Hats off, Canon. While I'm not sure how encouraging your employees to go home and fuck got passed the HR department, I imagine that they're too busy running home for Breeding Time to care.
Monday, January 26, 2009
01/26/08
I came to the PC Bang today to write something about my friend, who passed away one year ago today. I had no idea what I was going to write, how I was going to write it, or what I was going to accomplish by doing this, but I was going to it anyways. It needed to be done.
At no point during the past year have I really shared a story which properly captured his memory. I didn't splash the walls of any of the memorial facebook groups that were created, like many of our friends did. I didn't drop a tale into my blog. I really didn't do anything to characterize what type of person he was at all. I merely rhymed off about how much I drank, how much nail polish I bought, and how dearly I needed a dose of comedy. Because that's what I'm good at.
Being snarky, cracking inappropriate jokes, providing way too much information, unexpectedly dorking out, indulging my own whims and just generally acting like a cartoon character; these are the things at which I rule. The emotional infancy which makes me occasionally, accidentally hilarious, crippled me from addressing this appropriately.
I don't lack Kyle stories. The last time I shared one was the morning that I heard of his death. I was on the train ride home from what was probably another epic night in Daegu, when somehow he came up in conversation. While I kept in touch with him somewhat after first arriving here, I hadn't thrown around too many At Home stories with the New Folk. For whatever reason I was inspired to rhyme off a series of nicknames that he had managed to earn himself, as my train friend stared blankly, wondering why I was thinking out loud again.
When I arrived home an hour or so later, I found The Urgent Email from a former coworker of both of ours demanding that I call home. Unlike another friend of ours, I was fortunate enough to catch the email and learn the news over the telephone before catching one of dozens of affected facebook status messages. Bless Facebook and all the time wasting that she's allowed me, but that's no way to learn of a death.
One of the last times I remember hanging out with Kyle, he was watching a random snippet from Borat. I wasn't that interested and frankly can't remember a thing about that movie. What I do remember is the inexplicable joy that he got from watching Random Scene for the 42nd time.
I came here today to write something in memory of him, and all I've done is spend the last four hours immersing myself in episodes of Seinfeld (Soup Nazi!), Arrested Development (Never nude! Analrapist!), and How I Met Your Mother (Legen...dary!). I read some articles on Cracked and Unreality. I skimmed xkcd. I kept crawling the internet in search of more Funny, thinking that somehow this would make everything okay.
I accidentally came across some laughs in the form of an Avery Taking Meditation Classes headline. First, Sean Avery is an epic, legendary douche. I want to have beers with him, just so that I can listen to him Douche Off for a few hours. My life is as Douche Rich as the next guy's, but Avery takes Awesomely Douchey to a whole new level, one which I can only dream of encountering in the Real World. Still, in spite of the fact that I think Sean Avery is epically awesome in a doucheworthy way... this is what passes as a headline on Sports Illustrated these days? Really? Given that this is coming from the same network of sites that brought us Incest Dungeon Teen Wants to See Ocean, I probably shouldn't feign surprise.
And that brings me to now.
I just spent four hours in a PC Bang searching for words. When my own words failed me, I sought laughter in the words of others. While I undoubtedly failed to find the same level of inexplicable joy that Kyle found in Borat that night, I like to think that I came close. Perhaps this wasn't an exercise in futility after all?
At no point during the past year have I really shared a story which properly captured his memory. I didn't splash the walls of any of the memorial facebook groups that were created, like many of our friends did. I didn't drop a tale into my blog. I really didn't do anything to characterize what type of person he was at all. I merely rhymed off about how much I drank, how much nail polish I bought, and how dearly I needed a dose of comedy. Because that's what I'm good at.
Being snarky, cracking inappropriate jokes, providing way too much information, unexpectedly dorking out, indulging my own whims and just generally acting like a cartoon character; these are the things at which I rule. The emotional infancy which makes me occasionally, accidentally hilarious, crippled me from addressing this appropriately.
I don't lack Kyle stories. The last time I shared one was the morning that I heard of his death. I was on the train ride home from what was probably another epic night in Daegu, when somehow he came up in conversation. While I kept in touch with him somewhat after first arriving here, I hadn't thrown around too many At Home stories with the New Folk. For whatever reason I was inspired to rhyme off a series of nicknames that he had managed to earn himself, as my train friend stared blankly, wondering why I was thinking out loud again.
When I arrived home an hour or so later, I found The Urgent Email from a former coworker of both of ours demanding that I call home. Unlike another friend of ours, I was fortunate enough to catch the email and learn the news over the telephone before catching one of dozens of affected facebook status messages. Bless Facebook and all the time wasting that she's allowed me, but that's no way to learn of a death.
One of the last times I remember hanging out with Kyle, he was watching a random snippet from Borat. I wasn't that interested and frankly can't remember a thing about that movie. What I do remember is the inexplicable joy that he got from watching Random Scene for the 42nd time.
I came here today to write something in memory of him, and all I've done is spend the last four hours immersing myself in episodes of Seinfeld (Soup Nazi!), Arrested Development (Never nude! Analrapist!), and How I Met Your Mother (Legen...dary!). I read some articles on Cracked and Unreality. I skimmed xkcd. I kept crawling the internet in search of more Funny, thinking that somehow this would make everything okay.
I accidentally came across some laughs in the form of an Avery Taking Meditation Classes headline. First, Sean Avery is an epic, legendary douche. I want to have beers with him, just so that I can listen to him Douche Off for a few hours. My life is as Douche Rich as the next guy's, but Avery takes Awesomely Douchey to a whole new level, one which I can only dream of encountering in the Real World. Still, in spite of the fact that I think Sean Avery is epically awesome in a doucheworthy way... this is what passes as a headline on Sports Illustrated these days? Really? Given that this is coming from the same network of sites that brought us Incest Dungeon Teen Wants to See Ocean, I probably shouldn't feign surprise.
And that brings me to now.
I just spent four hours in a PC Bang searching for words. When my own words failed me, I sought laughter in the words of others. While I undoubtedly failed to find the same level of inexplicable joy that Kyle found in Borat that night, I like to think that I came close. Perhaps this wasn't an exercise in futility after all?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
It's Not Always About You, Korea.
A former coworker, and Busan local, caught me explaining to my brother that Korea smells 100 times worse than Toronto. Or at least it did, before sensory adaptation resulted in the death of my sense of smell some time last November.
My coworker was thoroughly unimpressed.
First, she advised me that she's Korean. You know, just in case I hadn't taken the fact that I was the only foreign teacher at my school and connected the dots yet. Once she was satisfied that I properly understood this point, she explained that she loved her country. Because apparently if you love your country just the right amount, it will no longer smell like garbage. I'm going to try this and see if I can love Harper out of office. Finally, she huffed that she was sorry I felt this way and stormed off.
Colour me confused.
This reminded me of this one time that I was walking around Seomyeon with a friend and being a massive asshole as I provided a running commentary of absolutely everything about Korea that sucked. As I commented on everything in particular about our surroundings that struck me as suck, my friend finally inquired as to what my issue with Korea was. She failed to understand that I have an issue with everything, and just happened to be in Korea at the time of conversation.
Had my former coworker understood this point and accepted that I'm just a fucking dick, we may still be friends.
Alternatively, had I accepted that some folks get their panties in a twist when you speak an ill word of anything even remotely related to their nation, we may still be friends. But that would have required my not being a dick.
I want to punch nationalism in the face.
My coworker was thoroughly unimpressed.
First, she advised me that she's Korean. You know, just in case I hadn't taken the fact that I was the only foreign teacher at my school and connected the dots yet. Once she was satisfied that I properly understood this point, she explained that she loved her country. Because apparently if you love your country just the right amount, it will no longer smell like garbage. I'm going to try this and see if I can love Harper out of office. Finally, she huffed that she was sorry I felt this way and stormed off.
Colour me confused.
This reminded me of this one time that I was walking around Seomyeon with a friend and being a massive asshole as I provided a running commentary of absolutely everything about Korea that sucked. As I commented on everything in particular about our surroundings that struck me as suck, my friend finally inquired as to what my issue with Korea was. She failed to understand that I have an issue with everything, and just happened to be in Korea at the time of conversation.
Had my former coworker understood this point and accepted that I'm just a fucking dick, we may still be friends.
Alternatively, had I accepted that some folks get their panties in a twist when you speak an ill word of anything even remotely related to their nation, we may still be friends. But that would have required my not being a dick.
I want to punch nationalism in the face.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Partial Facial Paralysis: Almost as hot as Catne.
As a result of falling on my head, I may never be able to move part of my face again. It's only a minor part of my face, so it's not really that big of a deal. I won't appear to have had a recent stroke or anything of the sort. At least, not until making comments like that catches up with me (again) and I fall on my head (again).
Essentially, I will be able to raise my left eyebrow most of the way, but will almost certainly be incapable of drawing it in. As a result, I'll be able to make a lot of really awesome disgusted faces, where the other half of my face totally doesn't move. At first I thought that my Dude, Fuck Off Face would suffer as a result, but have since seen the light.
Partial facial paralysis is awesome.
In other news, I still want to punch Seomyeon in the face.
Essentially, I will be able to raise my left eyebrow most of the way, but will almost certainly be incapable of drawing it in. As a result, I'll be able to make a lot of really awesome disgusted faces, where the other half of my face totally doesn't move. At first I thought that my Dude, Fuck Off Face would suffer as a result, but have since seen the light.
Partial facial paralysis is awesome.
In other news, I still want to punch Seomyeon in the face.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Catne is Sad
As The Shanster* and I fought for the last bite of chicken galbi, our Cat Lady friend sulked in her chair. This was alarming. Chicken galbi is delicious and should be fought for at all times, at the expense of all other things. When asked what the Hell she was sulking over, she shared the following tragedy with us: her cat has acne.
*(The Shanster hates it when I call her that, on account of it being a stupid Frat Boy nickname. But she doesn't read my blog, so it's all good)
3 minutes later when we were done laughing, Cat Lady tried to discuss this topic in a more serious nature. Epic failure ensued. We advised her that it wasn't time yet and laughed some more.
It's inexplicable that cat acne is this hilarious. But it is. It just is. I laugh just typing the words. Tears well up in my eyes.
For the rest of this week, whenever something gets me down - an undercooked meal, a failed lesson plan, getting blown off - I will remember Catne. And laugh. Until I cry.
*(The Shanster hates it when I call her that, on account of it being a stupid Frat Boy nickname. But she doesn't read my blog, so it's all good)
3 minutes later when we were done laughing, Cat Lady tried to discuss this topic in a more serious nature. Epic failure ensued. We advised her that it wasn't time yet and laughed some more.
It's inexplicable that cat acne is this hilarious. But it is. It just is. I laugh just typing the words. Tears well up in my eyes.
For the rest of this week, whenever something gets me down - an undercooked meal, a failed lesson plan, getting blown off - I will remember Catne. And laugh. Until I cry.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Happy New Years to My Face
Among other things, my plans for 2009 included partaking in more healthy activities, developing hobbies that don't include bottles or sass, and not falling on my head.
Then I fell on my face.
It's like I lost 2009 already.
Somehow I ended up by the Lotte in Seomyeon, where I felt I needed to go underground to cross the street. I did not actually need to cross the street there, but I don't have my bearings in Seomyeon at the best of times; just short of 5am on New Year's Day I was a lost cause.
You know when you begin to feel yourself falling, and unless you have some sort of special training which involves falling gracefuly, your options are to either accept the fall, or try to sort of run into it in the hopes of catching up with yourself? I tried the latter. Down a flight of stairs.
To make a long story short, this did not end well: My left eye is swollen shut due to a gaping laceration above the brow, both of my knees are purple, as is my hip and various points on my arms. Judging by the pain that is endured when I sleep on one side, one of my ribs may be bruised. My tongue is swollen from where I bit it during the fall. My right thumb is bruised, probably from gripping my purse during the fall.
It's not all bad. I conveniently fell right into a group of young men who immediately called an ambulence. A friend of mine conveniently called to see where I ended up, right as I was ending up at the hospital. Later, another friend and as well as my supervisor came to collect me and ensure that I was still Everybody's Neurotic Friend. When I was at my worst, the troops rallied around me and everything fell into place. I have many things to feel fortunate for.
Tomorrow was to be my first day of work, and I'm pretty peeved that I have to miss it on account of my own idiocy. Frankly, that part hurts more than the surface wounds. As much as it might not seem so given that I can be a total dick about just about everything, I wouldn't have come back for round two if I didn't take my role as an EFL Teacher seriously. This isn't exactly how I planned on starting the year off. I'll make it up to everybody. Somehow.
I wish that I could say that I'm going to walk away from this having learned some invaluable life lesson, but the truth is there's nothing that I'm going to change that wasn't already in motion. At most, this just reaffirmed that the changes I had already planned were a step in the right direction.
I hope that New Year's found the rest of you folk Happy. Here's to not falling on our faces in 2009. Literally. I encourage face splatting in the figurative sense.
Then I fell on my face.
It's like I lost 2009 already.
Somehow I ended up by the Lotte in Seomyeon, where I felt I needed to go underground to cross the street. I did not actually need to cross the street there, but I don't have my bearings in Seomyeon at the best of times; just short of 5am on New Year's Day I was a lost cause.
You know when you begin to feel yourself falling, and unless you have some sort of special training which involves falling gracefuly, your options are to either accept the fall, or try to sort of run into it in the hopes of catching up with yourself? I tried the latter. Down a flight of stairs.
To make a long story short, this did not end well: My left eye is swollen shut due to a gaping laceration above the brow, both of my knees are purple, as is my hip and various points on my arms. Judging by the pain that is endured when I sleep on one side, one of my ribs may be bruised. My tongue is swollen from where I bit it during the fall. My right thumb is bruised, probably from gripping my purse during the fall.
It's not all bad. I conveniently fell right into a group of young men who immediately called an ambulence. A friend of mine conveniently called to see where I ended up, right as I was ending up at the hospital. Later, another friend and as well as my supervisor came to collect me and ensure that I was still Everybody's Neurotic Friend. When I was at my worst, the troops rallied around me and everything fell into place. I have many things to feel fortunate for.
Tomorrow was to be my first day of work, and I'm pretty peeved that I have to miss it on account of my own idiocy. Frankly, that part hurts more than the surface wounds. As much as it might not seem so given that I can be a total dick about just about everything, I wouldn't have come back for round two if I didn't take my role as an EFL Teacher seriously. This isn't exactly how I planned on starting the year off. I'll make it up to everybody. Somehow.
I wish that I could say that I'm going to walk away from this having learned some invaluable life lesson, but the truth is there's nothing that I'm going to change that wasn't already in motion. At most, this just reaffirmed that the changes I had already planned were a step in the right direction.
I hope that New Year's found the rest of you folk Happy. Here's to not falling on our faces in 2009. Literally. I encourage face splatting in the figurative sense.
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