My Spring Hiatus

I'm running off to Europe for a bit to take the CELTA course. 

I'll be back to whine about Korea before anybody notices I was gone; late May, perhaps.

Relearning Canadian Pedestrian Etiquette

When I was walking around Ottawa with a friend of mine earlier this week, she kept hopping behind me as people approached us. It was bizarre and made me uncomfortable. Was she afraid of the Ottawa locals? Had she recently been mugged? 

"Why are you doing that?", I asked (in the impolite, heavily accented townie dialect I've been quick to readopt in the weeks since my return).

"There's somebody coming." She gave me a strange look.

"So?"

A long pause followed. Then, it hit me. 

"Oh... you're letting people by, instead of forcing them to either elbow around you or wade through the row of dog shit which lines the sidewalk. I get it. That's very... considerate of you. I should probably start doing that again."

My Cultural Retardation

My readjustment to Canadian culture is a work in progress. For the most part I'm doing okay:

• I have not yet left a restaurant without tipping.
• I haven't searched in vain for a garbage beside the toilet in which to dispose of my toilet paper.
• I haven't elbowed any seniors in a fight to get on any form of public transit (this is probably in part due to the fact that Canadian seniors appear far more feeble than their Korean counterparts, but I'm still counting it as a success).

That said, it hasn't been perfect. 

Last week I met up with a few friends that I hadn't hung out with since last time I was in town. We had a few drinks, after which it became extremely clear that I was actually the extra wheel on a double date. That it took me about two hours to notice is not terribly surprising. I'm pretty sure that my friends didn't really realize it, either; there was much confusion when I opted to depart shortly after midnight. 

Prior to the evening becoming a dry hump fiesta to which I was not invited,  much fun was had. Some at my expense, as is more or less the rule for these things. A few moments of cultural retardation on my part did not go unnoticed:

• I forgot to tip at the bar. Given that I was actually sitting at the bar and talking to the bartender for most of the drink, this not really excusable. I remembered later, felt shame, and tried to rectify the mistake by tipping double on my next drink.
• Before slipping out to use the washroom, I asked one of the other women at the table if the washrooms was "okay". This question did not make sense to them. I realized almost immediately that I didn't need to ask if the washroom was "okay"; the washroom would not be unisex, nor would there be squatters. I began to explain why I had asked the question in the first place, before remembering that nobody cares. 
• I said "nice-uh!" in response to learning that there was a candy jar on the bar. I then began explaining why I put an "uh" on the end, before remembering that not only does nobody care, but it's really not funny enough to warrant explanation anyway.

There were a few more slips, but that was probably the worst of it. In spite of my cultural confusion, it's awfully nice to be back.

This One's Mostly About Barf

I am jet lag's whore. I'm confident that in time, I can flip this relationship on it's head. For now, I float through the day slightly groggy. My first flight left Busan at 7am Wednesday morning; my last arrived in Toronto at 8pm the same day (so to speak). Were it not for the 10 hour layover in Incheon, or my completely failure to fall asleep, this might be an easier transition.

Two Gravol pills are usually enough to get the ball rolling on my barf-free journeys. I learned my lesson from the 6 hour barfathon that was my 2004 New York bus trip. Not yet having appreciated the full potential of my motion sickness, I neglected to bring any antinauseants with me, and began keeling over the bus shit hole not long after the border crossing. This continued for the remainder of the bus trip and, after a brief respite sitting on the filthy Port Authority floors, on the number 7 train to Queens. There's nothing like discovering a hole in your vomit bag across from the family of three that you've been putting on a Hurl Show for, to teach you the value of always having some puke meds on you.

In November 2008, prior to my first plane trip back to Canada, I discovered that rather than getting drunk on Gravol, I could try these patches which I found at a pharmacy in Busan. I have no idea what their American equivalent is, though I imagine that one exists. Essentially they are small patches that you stick behind your ear and keep you in check, barf-wise, for about 72 hours. The first couple of times that I tried them out, I also used a little bit of Gravol, just to play it safe. This time I did not, hence my failure to fall asleep. As it turns out, I do not sleep like a baby on planes, as I have long boasted; I sleep like a baby when I consume large amounts of Gravol. Duh.

Where I failed to fall asleep, my seatmate was quite successful. Of course, the sleeping came after I fed him some Gravol to prevent further barfing. Thankfully, such things don't bother me much. My senses are so dulled on airplanes that I barely noticed him utilizing his barf bag in the first place.

The Gravol was more or less a trade-off for the No Jet Lag pills that he'd been passing me. Apparently if you take one of these No Jet Lag pills every 37 seconds while in flight, you will feel like a golden pony once you touch ground. I read the package with suspicion, which prompted him to assure me that they were legit. I suppose that it looked like I didn't trust taking pills from a stranger, which would probably have been true, had it not been outweighed by my suspicion that whoever was responsible for the pill's packaging was full of shit. In the end, I can't say whether they really helped or not, but I've felt worse. So, maybe.

On Hiatus, End-of-Contract Nonsense, and Shingles

It was brought to my attention that my blog was out of date. I leave Korea, possibly for good, in just under two weeks. The lead up to this has been stressful as Hell, so I more or less forgot that my blog existed. Now that I've remembered, here is a summary of where I'm at:

When I finished my first contract in Korea, my boss honoured my contract, paid me in a timely manner, and personally delivered me to the airport. While I didn't expect the same treatment from a much larger, less intimate institution, I expected something more than what I'm getting. Still, in the end, I will more than likely get paid what I am owed and return home in one piece. It's not all horrible. I'll provide more details on what went down after the dust has settled; if I write about it now, I'll produce a 10 paragraph mess of angry gibberish.

(producing 10 paragraph messes of angry gibberish is not below me, but I may as well save what little energy I have to fight the incompetence directly)

In light of all this stress, I developed shingles. Again. For those of you not in the know, shingles are really, really sexy. In this particular case, it's basically a line of herpes down my neck. Or, as I prefer to call it, my "neck AIDS". Unsurprisingly, nobody else at works finds this as amusing as I do. Thankfully, it's only been a minor hindrance. This is the second time I've had shingles. The first time, I reacted badly to the medication and ended up with a head-to-toe sunburn like rash in addition to unmedicated shingles itch and pain; this time I have no idea what they gave me, but it seems to be working. It must have been the butt injections that did the trick. I'm going to miss those!

I am really, really looking forward to flying out on March 3rd. I will be posting about Korea for a while after I land, so the blog should be active for a while. There are a few things that I refuse to post about while still in Korea, for various reasons. Some of them actually make good stories. Others, less so.

Until then... Happy belated Lunar New Year, Valentine's Day, Family Day, and all of those other holidays between last time, now, and then.

Weddings: What's Not to Like?

I hadn't been sick in well over a year. When 2010 rolled in, bringing with it my first bout of the flu since first moving to Korea, I was due. Cold or flu? Whichever, it was my turn. I have no qualms about starting off the year on my ass. Again. It happens.

I've been very accepting of the fact that sometimes, even I get sick, since I woke up with this last Saturday. I've been very patient. I slept away the entire weekend, took vitamins, ate soup, and even enjoyed the down time a little bit. Not that this did me any good. My cold, flu, or whatever has stretched its way through another weekend. This time, I'm not enjoying the down time quite so much. As I took in episode after episode of The Sopranos today (Season1 - I'm new to the series. Apparently I wasn't around last decade), a friend of mine was getting married in Daegu.

I absolutely love weddings. Good food. People looking slightly better than they usually do. Happiness. Hope. Me, drunk. What's not to love? I will never understand how anybody could hate weddings. I'll pass on lengthy ceremonies and picking up the tab, but the rest? Yes, please.

As much as it bothers me that I had to miss it, I'll take this moment to be less self centred than usual and realize that the wedding surely went on gloriously, even without me hiding in the back corner; I can be happy knowing that some folks I know just had one of the best days of their lives.

Congratulations to Diana and Min Gi!

Happy New Years to Your Face

I'm staying in tonight to eat cheesecake and catch up on Season 5 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. If the mood strikes, I may also start Deadwood; I just finished Sons of Anarchy Season 2, so I'm due for another drama. As far as I'm concerned, this is a pretty excellent way to bring in 2010.

Happy New Year to all. Let there be none of this:

I will likely write some reflective drivel tomorrow, as I do; it keeps my sleep regular.

It Must be That Time of Year

I've reached that point in my stunted emotional development where I start to think that coming back would be a good idea. It really wouldn't be. At least, not without trying something else first. I know that. Still. It would be nice if what is best would coordinate with what is easy for once.

Nata Tat and The Ajusave

Aside from my weekend trip to Jeju Island, which I will post about later this week, nothing of note has happened to me lately. Something of note did happen to a friend of mine a couple of weeks ago, so I'm going to tell her story, in the way that I tell all stories - by making them all about me.

About a year and a half ago, I was nearly involved in a violent incident on the subway. I like to think that I was this close to just Ending some drunken scum who harassing me, but in reality I was likely closer to either getting my ass kicked or arrested. Thankfully, there was a magical Super Ajumma to save me from both myself, and that tragic waste of carbon and oxygen that was the Soju Man. Since that day, ajummas have pretty much been my favorite people (that is, until I moved to Seomyeon and started hating absolutely everybody).

While I've read quite a few horrific stories of this sort (and worse) on the Internet, until a couple of weeks ago my subway encounter was the worst of this nature that I'd heard first hand. Then, a friend of mine decided to put my weak look-what-almost-happened version of events to shame. I'm going to call her Nata Tat, because she totally digs that.

Nata Tat was riding the subway to Hadan (which may as well be on another planet) from Seomyeon (which shouldn't be on any planet). This usually takes her something like 45 minutes, calls for a book, and is an uneventful ride. Unless Drunk finds you.

Around 1pm, a charmingly drunk fellow stumbled into Nata Tat's subway car, cause that's just how some folks like to start their day. Personally, whenever drunk garbage stumbles into my space, I'm immediately on edge, with clenched fists and a readiness to break. Consider this the result of two years of regular harassment at the hands of random drunk men. Or an unhealthy reaction stemming from my broken psyche. Whatever it is, Nata Tat and I don't do crazy in the same way. She probably would have barely noticed him and continued with whatever thought it was she was having at the time, had Drunk not decided that she had a target on her cheek.

When the charming drunk fellow stumbled over to Nata Tat to scream in her face and follow it up with a full arm white trash style smack across the cheek, her reaction was what I would expect from most - shock. The man was set to continue berating her, when out of nowhere jumped in Super Ajumma, ready to save the day. With her gigantic purse, Super Ajumma whacked the man into submission, following it up with a verbal assault that had him in tears. Before Nata Tat could even piece together what the crap had just happened, she was being ushered into the special seating by the Super Ajumma, who's purpose in life is, seemingly, to make ours just a little bit safer.

Sadly, Nata Tat did not have a black eye to back up her story. Her word was enough, of course, if for no other reason than absolutely none of her tale was even remotely unbelievable. Of course there was a repugnantly drunk man on the subway at 1pm. Of course he decided to target the only foreigner on the train. And of course there was a wonderful, strong woman willing to stand up for what is right and smack the shit out of his pitiful existence. This is where we are.

The Ajusave. It's a thing. Cherish it.

Korean Music is Not Compatible With Ecstasy

This has been the best Monday ever, and it's not even 2 pm yet. I almost want to go to bed and call it a day. It can only go downhill from here. There have been at least three great moments of quality what-the-Hell-just-happened for me so far today. This was just one. We were discussing anti-smoking regulations in one of my favourite classes this morning. It went something like this:

Barbie: Does anybody have any vocabulary questions from the article?

Sober Student: I just want to know... have you ever had marijuana.

Barbie: That's not... okay, yes. Yes, I have. Before coming to Korea. I quit a few months before arriving. This is less of a big deal where I come from.

Sober Student: What does marijuana feel like?

Not Sober Student: Marijuana is too soft! Like cigarettes.

Barbie: Like cigarettes?

Not Sober Student: Yes. Too soft.

Barbie: You're clearly not getting the right stuff.

Not Sober Student: Ecstasy is better. Marijuana, cigarettes, too soft. But ecstasy is good.

Sober Student: Barbie, have you...

Barbie: No. I haven't. I -

Not Sober Student: Ecstasy is good, but no good with Korean music. Korean music, too slow. Korean music and ecstasy are not compatible.

The class just moved on with the lesson at that point, because really, what more was there to say?

Having Watched You Fall Over, I am Now Titillated

I was out and about on the weekend. I've been doing more of that lately, now that my face has mostly healed up. It's never going to entirely, which is probably just as well; I can make amazing pissy faces now that my left eyebrow doesn't have quite the range that the right does.

Late Saturday, the group I was with insisted on going to a bar which I have declared too gross to enter. It's not, really. I'm being completely irrational. It's like my fear of gigantic stuffed animals (they're creepy), except that I actually used to go to the bar in question, and even had a good time there once;I have absolutely not ever spent time with gigantic stuffed animals.

Not wanting to make a fuss, I said something to the friends about being tired anyways, and they set off on their way. A good time had already been had, and I was not itching to stay out all night. I was content to have an out.

Going home without two wraps from the kebab guy seemed like a bad idea. As I was deciding which kebab guy to go to, a very one-sided fight stumbled into one of the stands. So far as I could tell, words were quickly exchanged, then one guy hit the other, who bounced off the stand before falling into a car. The victor walked off, presumably because his statement had been made and he was now bored. Understandable.

As I waited for my wonderfully delicious food, the guy who had just bounced off the car approached me at the stand. He wanted advice on whether or not to pursue the guy who had hit him. By virtue of being in a fantastic place at the wrong time, I was the go-to person for these things.

Me: Did he have a reason to hit you?

Car Bouncer: Uh.. yeah. But..

Me: Can you take him down, or are you just looking to get your ass kicked?

CB: I probably can't...

Me: Then why would you?

CB: That's a good point.

Me: Isn't it? Running after guys that can and will crush you like a bug is never a good plan.

CB then introduced himself to me all proper-like, told me that I was very wise (true) and asked me to join him for a drink. I politely declined, and wished him luck with the whole not-getting-his-ass-kicked thing. As I walked off, he took his cause to the kebab guy, in search of a second opinion as to whether or not he should be a completely self destructive disaster.

I did not stay to see the result.

Heat: Who Needs it?

I'm going to preface this post with the two following points:

1) I have a tendency to label everything that I don't understand as dumb. Flawed, but this is how I'm wired.

2) All of the other people that I know in Korea (three) are able to heat their apartment whenever they please.

Onward:

It went down to 2 degrees Celcius the other night. For those of you not familiar with how Busan works, this qualifies as mother fucking cold. Essentially, Busan waited until the 1st of November to turn on Autumn. Just last week, I was wearing a skirt and no sweater. Last week.

Being mother fucking cold, I decided that it was time to retire the air conditioner and turn on the heat. Having a heated floor is more or less my favourite thing about Korea. Unfortunately, my floor's failure to cooperate killed my buzz. Six hours and no dice; it was still mother fucking cold.

Anger began to set in. I cursed at Korea in my head several times before doing the productive thing and whining about it on facebook. I then contemplated cursing at myself for not knowing what the words on my heating control mean (really, there's no excuse for that at this point), before retiring that idea on account of absurdity (it's never my fault). Finally, I made a last ditch effort to push all of the buttons on heating control until presto! It worked. It turns out that I had left the shower-timer on and could have avoided the anger phase entirely had I known that was what that button did.

This is how I do Tuesdays.

The next day I spoke to a friend of mine, who was complaining about the heat in her building. It turns out that she's not an idiot, and the her building is actually broken. The rules, which apply to every unfortunate apartment in her broken building, are as follows:

1) The heat will only work between the hours of 4-6am, and 8-10pm.

2) If you wish to preset the heating control so that it is ready to go at those times, should you not be home or alert when it's time to flick the switch, you must pay for gas during the time that it wasn't actually working.

3) If you aren't available during the 4 hours that the building allows you to heat your apartment, and you don't preset the heating control, you may as well open all of your windows and hope that a warm gust of air blows in, because your apartment is going to be mother fucking cold. Buy a hat.

"That is too dumb to be true", was the only possible response. Part of my brain died as she explained that her fiance, who is Korean, had argued the matter at length with the building manager, to no avail. Not only is it true, but it's not just a matter of Random Foreigner Not Getting It (as is occasionally the case with yours truly).

Since hearing of this, I have made a point of complaining about it several times a day. Frankly, I don't have any of my own shit to complain about this week and don't feel entirely whole unless I do. This serves as an appropriate substitute until trouble finds me again.

Swollen Face, Tired Hair

As opposed to simply telling me that I looked like I hadn't slept in three days like they usually do, a couple of my students decided that today was the day to get creative. The first asked me why my face was "swollen", and the second advised me that I had "tired hair". The first laughed at the second and informed her that the hair comment was rather rude. The swollen face comment? Totally acceptable, apparently.

Honestly, being told that I look like an exhausted bag of crap every day, even on those rare occasions that I don't, doesn't really bug. It bores. I do often look like a tired bag of crap. Given how little I try to appear otherwise, I'm quite okay with this. I just wish that I could train the few students that are still stuck on this point to say more interesting things. As it is, they mean well, so I smile and nod; a boring response.

Sometimes, Korea is Magical.

As I posted the other day, I lost a couple important pieces of plastic over the weekend. I suspect that they fell out one of the times that I clunked my wallet on the bar Friday night, or possibly when I was throwing it around in a taxi shortly thereafter. Either way, dumb.

I don't ever lose things.

I've never lost my passport.

Or my driver's licence (largely because I don't drive).

I've never lost my cell phone.

Or my wallet (except for those two times that I left it at the library. I was 14 and a world away, so this doesn't count).

I've never lost anything that matters.

This was out of character. I'm tempted to say that this is kind of carelessness is why I stopped drinking in the first place, but really, I didn't lose a single personal belonging that time that I fell on my head, and that was much stupider. I don't lose things. I just don't. It's a control thing. Or maybe I'm possessive; it's true, I don't even take my purse off at work. Let's just say it's some form of Crazy and let it be.

While the bank card is the less important of the two, they wouldn't issue me another unless I showed them my Alien Registration Card. Fair enough. Seeing as I didn't have that either, this was inconvenient.

Then, magic happened.

Late this evening, I received a text from work that my bank card had turned up in Sajik. I was nowhere near Sajik. Somebody found my card, either in a taxi, a bar, or wherever, held on to it all weekend, and took the time to turn it into my bank the next business day. Then, the bank used the card to pull up my file, contact my school, and detail how I could go about retrieving it.

Of course that happened.

Much thanks is owed to whichever individual or business is responsible for this. I'll add this one to the Things That Would Never Happen at Home file.

My Contract Extension: is it March yet?

I feel like pizza, but the closest pizza place to my apartment is a 10 minute walk. 15, if I miss the lights, which I would. If I hadn't been too lazy to brush up on my pizza-ordering vocabulary, I'd order in. Of course, I was. I'm contemplating relearning it. The pizza hole that is my stomach will undoubtedly desire to be filled at least a few more times over the next four and a half months. Still, lazy. I need more incentive.

This is the week that I'm supposed to sign my contract extension. This is the weekend that I lost my Alien Card. These are not compatible events. I seem to think I need one thing for the other to process. It will work itself out, as these thing do.

Why extend my stay in a place where I have previously stated that I no longer want to be? The alternative, Ontario in January, is balls. Cold. Inhospitable. Few places hiring. Even the temp agencies are dried up at that time. March. I can tolerate March. It will probably still snow, because Ontario's bitchy like that, but it could be worse: January. My most hated month comes to Busan, too, so this isn't my only reason. There's also the obvious: I don't actually hate it here. I merely hate many, many things about Here. That's the story Anywhere.

The Plan is to return to Ontario in March. For a month. Then, once I've properly healed, I'll be ready to resume a love-hate relationship with Somewhere Else. I'm thinking Japan, Turkey, or Oman.

Select Weekend Musings

• Faces are hard. Don't hit them. Should you insist on hitting one, and it belongs to a drunk fellow, make sure that he stays down after you hit him. Otherwise, whoops.

• A family holiday spent in the back of a packed bar, in the company of near-strangers, is roughly as unstimulating as I imagined it.

• It's easy to make friends here. Making friends that not only accept every last neurotic characteristic I have to offer, but realize those are the things which make me Me? Less easy. It sucks when people leave.

• I spent two years trying to redefine myself, only to realize that there was nothing wrong with the original definition. Regression or growth through acceptance? To be determined at a later date.

• If I believed in that sort of thing, I'd be thankful to the guardian angels who were looking over me this past weekend. As it stands, I will just thank the stars instead.

Happy Chuseok.

Why is Jesus Wearing Hockey Pads?

On the way out my friend's door last night I noticed picture taped to the door. The dog ear on the upper left corner was drooping so much that it covered half of the drawing, indicating that it had been hanging there for a while. Despite spending most of my Monday evenings in that apartment, watching trashy TV programs, I hadn't noticed it before. Or perhaps I previously noted and had since forgot; This seems more likely.

The drawing was made on white printer paper with a single blood-red marker. A lonely stick-man was depicted, in a scene that looked suspiciously like the crucifixion. He hung from a single plank of wood, which his arms were spread out on. Blood gushed from the stick-man's arms and fell into pools below him. Large rectangular objects appeared to be attached to his legs - This part didn't quite fit.

"Uh.... why?" I pointed at it.
"A student gave it to me. I ... don't know."
"You didn't ask him for an explanation?"
"I'd really rather not know," the proud owner of the piece explained.
"It looks like the crucifixion of Jesus, except this time he wore hockey pads. Why is Jesus wearing hockey pads?"

My friend glanced at me in disgust and pointed out that the "artist" was an elementary student, who couldn't possibly have thoughts like this; that only my 27-year-old mind would come up with something that demented. Usually true, but this time not. This piece was clearly inspired work, by a child who didn't realize that hockey wasn't really a thing back then.

I have no problem believing that children can be that demented. I was one once.

Sorry, no photo. I thought of asking my friend to take one but figured that he'd boot me out once he realized I wanted it for internet purposes. I may try to sneak one next week.

I'm Out There, Somewhere.

After three months of getting to sleep in until 9 or 10am, I'm back on the barely-morning shift. Getting up before the clock hits 6 isn't as bad as it sounds. Though I'm out early enough to see the drunks keel over into their vomit on the corner, I'm home again before the morning rush hour has even begun. It's not all bad.

Last time I went this long without posting, a couple of folks from home expressed concern. They do this. That's why I keep them at home. So, let it be known that I'm out there, somewhere, doing just dandy. No better or worse than usual, really. I just forgot to post any of the things that I wrote this month. It happens from time to time.

Hate at First Sight

Every month, I walk into my new classes and I hate them on sight. It's not personal. I just hate everybody that I don't know; those in the classroom are no exception.The feeling usually passes once I share a few words with them and am forced to accept them as people, but up until that point? Hate.

Okay, hate is a bit strong. I'm exaggerating, as I do. Hate indicates a degree of caring, which doesn't exist in this case. Apathy or, at worst, distrust would be more appropriate. Whatever it is, while I follow something resembling the social code which I was taught (holding open doors for people, not cutting in line, and other such blah), people that I don't know don't really register as real people.

Midway through the second day of class, once I've attached names to faces and seen a glimpse of personality, I come around to the idea that my students are real people. By the end of the first week, we're all pretty tight, such that I can cater my lesson plans to each of their individual learning styles and personalities. By the end of the month, I can even imagine that some of them exist outside of the classroom; this is in part because they insist that I have a drink with them, an invite which I rarely decline.

When classes come to a close each month, all the names, which went with faces, most of which had personalities, move on. A new sea of nameless faces, which I hate on sight, then grow to see as people, and finally like, maybe just a little bit, replace the old.

It's an exhausting process.

I Wanna Be Your Dog

Saw a t-shirt with this wonderful combination of words screaming from it.

Want this t-shirt.

Everything else is bad.

It will pass.