Send in the Clown

It's snowin' big out there, kids.  Not that there is an especially massive amount of the Nature's Blow out there, but the flakes are easily the size of a muskrat.  Each one.  Each weighing about a half-pound, too, so please be careful where you enjoy yourself.

Classes were once again cancelled today.  This seems the logical choice given the joy it gives the children of the country (future tax payers) and the wobbly fright it shovels upon the drivers and ajummas (former children).  I'm happy about it too as I was not looking forward to the classes I had in front of me today.  Alas, this means my plans for Busan over New Years are officially borked as we must make up these lost hours of repetition and vocabulary.  Plus I'll have to teach those classes anyway, so it's really an overall bummer.  No matter.  I'll make it through.  When it comes down to it, nothing that ever gets to me on a daily basis could rightfully be counted as anything more than a minor nuisance.  All in all, life is pretty good and has infinite potential.  Y'know?

Last night the adult class celebrated finishing this year's English course by taking Melissa (my wonderful co-worker and their main teacher) and myself out for ori, which is Korean for "an absolute fuck ton of duck."  The adult students like me for much of the same reason that the children like me: I'm eaqual parts teacher/clown.  This approach certainly has it's sizable downfalls, but when you're eating dinner (or hanging with kids on a snow day until their parents pick them up), it's a katana.  So drinks were had and had and had, duck was forced down the gullet like laundry into a dorm hamper, and I was invited to norebang (Korean karaoke).  I was tired and not in the mood, but I'm gathering that it's rude to say No to your elders about anything ever, especially if they're footing the bill and getting you liquored up.  So I went.  Long story short, I rocked their faces off and left after our time was up and I was tired of being groped by a tall man in a nice vest.  I handled business for the hagwon though.  I think they'll be back for another session of English.  With these thighs, how could they not?

Livin' is going well.  As always, there is much more to be done to make sure this experience gets the juicin' it deserves.  Budgeting resources is one crucial thing.  I can't pay off my loans all at once or else I won't have any money for wasting.  I can't spend all my free-time on my school work or there won't be time for wastin'.  And I can't eat all my mondu the day I get it, but that lesson is the hardest to learn and will come in time.  I find myself playing guitar, drinking or watching strange clips of musicians online quite often.  As I could do this anywhere, I don't think it's the approach to take.  So I break it up with long walks, writing at Jürgen's, Hangul study and salads.  I'm still fine-tuning my way around this life, so stay tuned for absolute clarity.

This entry has taken me far too long to write.  Francine's takin' me out for pizza tonight at a shi-shi kinda place (Korean pizza is shite, but shite pizza is pizza all the same) so I gots to get to the market for tomatoes and spinach before the world ends.

Send boots if you have any in my size.  THIS...I COMMAND!!!

That is all.

Bless you all right down to your pelvi.

-LS^2

Little known fact: Korean children are 36 years old.

Everything Jung Hyun needs

to say is right here.

Get me gloves like this or be gone!

Tae Woo.  This young man's powers will

someday either help or hurt a large number

of people.  I'm absolutely certain.

Life and Death

Thinkin' about you tonight.  Miss you, John.

-LS^2

John keeping me sane at LIB 2011.

The Importance of Shouting

God damn, it's really cold in here.

The temperature outside is 2 degrees celsius.  I'm pretty sure that's the same temperature in my APT, too.  And every morning when I wake up, it's colder than it was when I went to bed.  I haven't had to deal with this for quite a while as LA nestled me in it's warm bosom and nursed me with 50 degree winter weather.  Farenheit, you understand.  Not celsius.  Anyway, I can't feel my digits, so feel sorry for me.

I drank all the wine on Saturday which lead to me watching about 10 hours of Gordon Ramsey footage on Sunday, proper hungover.  For the life of me, I can't explain why.  I don't care that much for cooking shows or reality television and any other time I would have said he's a ratings-hungry twat whose job it is to be as annoying as possible.  But for some reason I was hooked.  Hell's Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares, Hotel Hell...all of it.  It forced it's way into my dreams and batted around my imagination.  I can't remember what happened, but...oh well.  It happened and it's gone now.

It's my birthday in 115 minutes.  I'll be 31.  And I think I'll celebrate it by playing E minor and some weird C chord over and over, pretending I'm in a hotel room in Georgia with a bunch of Dylanesque weirdos and blowing their socks off as much as they are mine.  Then some super skinny girl with a weird laugh and a half bottle of vodka will come in and fall in love with one of the other weirdos.  Then I'll eat the wrong pill and get sick on the floor next to the bed.  Then one of the hairier guys will be the only one to ask if I'm okay and I'll take that as my cue to stumble out of the room and into the hallway.  On my out, I'll catch a look from Vodka Tiny that I'll mistake as some sort of connection but will really just be a basic level of general human compassion mixed with the face you make when you only first meet someone as they fall out of your ex-boyfriend-who-you're-still-sleeping-with's hotel party room.

Oh, and in the fantasy I end up sleeping in the lobby, never seeing any of those people again despite leaving my jacket on the chair.  It's a good'n.

I'm blessed to be around small children all day.  They're wonderful.  The rudeness, selfishness, stickiness and overall inefficient use of their bodies and minds not withstanding, they're wonderful creatures.  I dig it.  If only I spoke more Korean...

I have no more for you at the moment.  I'm going to go waltz into the first minutes of my 32nd year outside for no good reason.

Always Floating
Toward Heaven,
-LS^2

Can ya blame a kid for

wantin' to eat some tape?

Melissa's gnarled hand.

3 sheets.

Handling it in Hawaii.

Happy Thank You

As we close in on the 10:21 hour, there is limited time in which to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving. I'm well aware that in The States (what those of us in The States (what those of us in The States (what those of us in The States call it) call it) call it) the day is only just now waking up, shaking dreams from it's hair and turning on some holiday Mos Def, but here in Korea (what those of us in The States call it), the day has come and gone without so much as a headcold from the locals.  Luckily, Rebecca C. was kind enough to host a get together in her APT to which many of us came and the wine flowed.  I kept a cool head 'cause I'm tired of weekday drinkin'.  But tomorrow, I'll most likely swallow a bottle.  Whole.

I found myself explaining Thanksgiving to many of my students today, and as I've never had to do so that many times to such an unfamiliar audience, it made me think about what I actually think about it.  Thanksgiving always first and foremost makes me think of my Kindergarten year when Mrs. Teasin' had us cut out turkey-hand-turkeys.  I was under the impression that she came up with this idea, and I was floored by it's concept.  She also had us label the feathers after members of our family.  I found this to be a flawed technique as this means that the family must be comprised of five members or else your turkey is gangly (or your life is wrong).  This posed no problem to me as I have a perfectly-sized family in the eyes of Mrs. Teasin', but I felt for all the poor bastard children around me.  So I guess you could say that from my earliest memory of this holiday, I was thankful for my family.

We Salazars have our problems, but I thank my heart stars that they are mine.  I love each one of them forever and ever and care for the well-being of each one of my Salazarios to my core.  Sometimes some of us suck. I've seen it first hand.  But as a whole I think we're pretty bad ass.  I love you Papa Bear, Parnell, Teo and Marco.  Buckets to all of you.

That's all for now, y'all.  Happy Thanksgiving.  Please show appreciation to your waitresses and gas station attendants.  They aren't stoked to be where they are today, so help 'em out.

Oh!  And an Urgent PS!
If anyone knows how to get a hold of Melissa "Missy" Drummond (Mt. Pleasant Community High School Graduating Class of 2000), please let me know.  I would love to hear her voice.

Love until you don't,
Try until you can't,
Listen to Regina Spektor until
you don't want to anymore,
-LS^2

Bryan Burgess' sweater, one

of my prized possessions.

RIP, B.

A 57 year-old man in a 7 year old's body.

Legend has it he was born with that hat on.

My famous Suicide Smoothies!

Phineas Gage, holding the 55 inch,

13 pound tamping rod that shot

through his face and destroyed his

frontal lobe on September 13, 1848.

Puck You

I work about 44 hours a day.

I don't necessarily have to, but I choose to for some reason.  I guess because I prefer to work inefficiently when I'm preparing and I choose to leave no loose ends in the implementation period, which does not work.  'Cause it's all loose.  Today I tried to amp myself up by helping myself to 2 "strong Americanos" from the teacher's lounge (which is actually just a dumpy kitchen with a printer wedged into it).  Well, suffice to say it shot my heart in the balls and I had a great time weirding out the classes quite uncontrollably.  I let Dae Yeon ride me because they told me to pretend I was a hippo.  I watched this from outside of my body thinking "I shoulda been my teacher."

I've been on this kick of buying music from iTunes recently.  And I can never buy just one album, I buy all of them.  I've only spent about $50 doing so so far (Lake Street Dive, Nightmare & the Cat), so I'm not sure if I can actually call it any sort of proper "kick" yet, but there's a pending $40 purchase in my heart (The Shivers).  The thing is, there aren't that many times when I'm jammin' to music.  I think it just fills my soul with a comforting feeling to know that I've amassed the music I may want to listen to should the feeling ever come up.  Charlotte gave me a shit ton of Neil Young and I really have never gotten into him, but I don't want to delete it because I might want it someday.  So it's a bummer when my iTunes randomizer selects his nasally whiney voice every 4 songs or so.

Big time problems, you know?

I inherited a class of assholes last Monday.  They're a bunch of delinquents and jerks, and they wasted no time flipping me off and calling me ugly.  This was a bummer, especially because the class I gave up for them was 1/3 of their size and all super sweet, smart and fun girls.  But if someone has to have 'em, I guess I will.  In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing.  Just a bummer.  On the bright side, when they say "Puck you," I'm delighted at how stupid they sound.  I think I'll get a squirt gun.

I had amazing Indian food last night.  I've never really made this claim-whether internally or to a bus driver-but I love Indian food.  Spicey and sloppy and fulla chunks of God knows what.  Yeah.  Give it up.  Gimme that curry, Murray.

A few Saturdays ago, I was scheduled to go to a little Olympics day at an orphanage in Andong.  It got rained out, allowing me to go on a scavenger hunt around town.  But it's back on for this Saturday, and I'm stoked.  It's been a few weeks since I've left town, and I'm interested to do something for kids that isn't based on how well they say "Who took Don's lock?"  In fact, I'll be juggling.  I'm a little nervous because I presented the idea thinking I'd be at one of the stations and I could teach kids how to juggle.  Instead, I'm giving a show.  I'm not a good enough juggler to do this, so I've been practicing.  Tonight, I was practicing my 3-ball variations (claw grabs and throws) for about 40 minutes when my phone rang.  My phone hardly ever rings 'cause everyone texts.  It was my principal/landlord/neighbor.  He said there was a loud sound coming from my APT.  It took a second to register that it was the balls hitting the ground, so we cleared that up.  He told me he thought I was punching the wall.  "Nope.  Just jugglin'."  A laugh was had and he went home.  This was about an hour ago, and I'm still laughing at the thought that he imagined me punching my walls at irregular intervals for the better part of an hour.

I have a beard now.  I like it, especially 'cause I was lead to believe it would not be allowed here.  Score one for the hairy guys, y'all.

It's freezing in here, too.

I'm eating salads all the time, but I should move on to curry.

Curry.

Things I Need

• lightbulbs
• a heater
• a live-in Asian
• a water gun

Y'all so good, y'all so kind.  I hope you're warm and cozy wherever you are.  Be well.

-LS^2

After allegedly cleaning the mold off my walls,

the building engineer was kind enough to

throw in a complimentary greenscreen.

I teach about the world, Son.

All-night bouncehouse.

My D3 muppets showin' their love to

my Mother, Linda Marie Salazar.

Daddy's Cold LIVE from My Apartment

If you ever look at pictures of bands-especially small bands, or up-and-coming bands, or indie bands-they always have pictures of them at some "cute little antique shop" or "quaint little truck stop" where they found marvelous little things or ironic trucker hats or matching gorilla gloves that the whole band bought and then subsequently photographed themselves wearing.  Or maybe a sign that says "Laundry-5 Cents."  You know, something like any of that.  But if I were in a band and we were traveling, I don't feel like I would buy any of these things.  Not because they aren't cool or fun, but because I think I would spend my complete allowance on food.  That's all I ever really buy.  Food.

All that being said, there are probably a few reasons why I am not in a band-my impulse buying habits not being the largest of them.  But neither is my lack of musical ability.  I can write a song.  I can write many songs.  In fact, I have.  And some of them are pretty damn good.  I can play guitar.  Not well, but better than a lot of people.  And I have a sense for what chords sound good together, even if I can't get that wicked creative with the uniqueness.  And I have recording equipment and access to the bare bones of it.  And I even have people who are willing to play with me or record me and who I think are talented.  So what is it?  Well, for now, it's that I'm taking this trajectory towards being an English teacher in Korea.  Not what I would have guessed for myself a year back, but I'm proud of the decision regardless, even if it's not what I expected.  That's part of the fun of it, that it's so different from anything else I've done.

But back to why I'm not in a band...

I think I may have a hard time melding my sensibilities with others'.  Jamming has always been something I've shied away from.  And while I do that, I see musicians with far less talent and creativity form bands and book gigs.  But good for them.  Half the battle is just doing it, even if you're doing it with very little.  So I hold no resentment.  I almost said "...no jealousy," but that may not be entirely true.

I also have a hard time finishing a song.  Starting one is easy.  Then all the changes and lyrics and staying true to it and blah blah blah...I have more unfinished songs than you have cayenne recipes you want to try.  I sometimes wonder "Should I just finish them all and not worry about it being 'perfect'?"  I think the answer is a resounding "It depends!"  On one hand, it does my song a disservice to finish it just for the sake of calling it finished.  It may lose the potential it had.  On the other hand, what good is potential if you sit on it forever and never use it because you're afraid of wasting it.  Am I right, ladies?  So yeah.  Like Tyson once told me when I posed the question to him: "Well, yeah, if you can do it, finish 'em."  Sounds easy enough, right?  Just finish 'em.

Marco writes a song just about every hour.  Dude has so many songs.  And they're really fuckin' good too (I just found out my Nana reads my blog.  Sorry about the swearing, Nana!).  And sometimes I wonder where the hell he got the chops.  I remember sitting in the basement trying to watch TV and he would be in his room learning a song.  And playing the song over and over.  And over and over.  And over.  I think I even yelled at him about it.  And look at the dude now.  But it's not his guitar playing that I think is the most impressive.  Or his voice.  Both of these are great, but it's his songwriting.  The imagery and poetry he comes up with blows my mind.  And I think "We grew up in the same house, with the same parents and same city with the same opportunities.  Where the hell did he get this?"  And then I think about the different upbringing we had.  And the way we manifested our pain or joy or shyness or lack thereof.  So it's not as "the same" as I sometimes think it is.  And that's why he's such an amazing writer.  'Cause he's unique and different and and and and...

I haven't stopped listening to this Lake Street Dive album.  I bought 3 of them, but I've listened to one over and over and over.  I love it.  I like the lyrics (though I have some notes) and the voices and the jazzy instrumentation.  Their bassist is from Iowa City, so I wonder if I ever vomited in front of her near campus or asked her for a cigarette in The Deadwood.  I'm assuming I've done both.  I just wrote her an e-mail in typical fanboy fashion basically informing her that a) we're both from Iowa and b) I like her music.  As anyone does, I always hope my letter will be the one that shines through.  "Dear Lucas, the glaring sincerity of your 30-word missive caught my attention and could not be ignored.  I've been looking for someone with your honesty and beauty to save me from this sea of leaches in which I find myself.  The road is a lonely place.  Rescue me.  Love, Bridget and the rest of the band and anyone else you've ever yearned for from afar, especially Scottie Pippen."  It'll happen someday.  With any luck, that letter is already waiting for me in my inbox.  But I know it's not, because GMail refreshes automatically, and I'm sitting pretty at Zero New Messages.

With that, everyone, I leave you with your thoughts.  Please consider doing something great today.  Or if not today, then someday way down the road that you can't even see from here.

Oh, and vote.  Heathens.

I care for most of you...

-LS^2

Some Musically Themed Pictures

F'nargling on the ivories after lugging Liberty's

piano.  One of my favorite photos ever.

Barry & Marco.

Once again, involuntarily encouraging Darryl.

Lake Street Dive.  Aren't they lovely?

Perros Grandes, Perros Pequeños.

Marco's outdoor workshop.

Neubauer's Dad's menagerie.

That Voice

I must let this be known:
I heard this song by clicking away at links yesterday morning.  I have not stopped listening to this band since.  They aren't my favorite band in the world, their sound isn't the most unique or face-melting, but the combination of the song they chose, the style in which it was done and holy hell this woman's voice...I can't get over it.  Since discovering it I have bought their catalogue and am listening to it on repeat right now.  Again, it's probably a passing mood, but if one can't honor the mood when it comes, one cannot say they're doing anything with their soul.

So if you wanna hear a beautiful song made beautifuller, check it out.

Lake Street Dive
"I Want You Back" by The Jackson 5

-LS^2

My Dad, Genaro Lopez Dinosaur, a few years back.

Scavenge for the Game

It was innocent enough: get your picture taken with a monk.  This was a mission on our Halloween Scavenger Hunt on Saturday.  And wouldn't you know it, there was a tiny temple just a mile or two from my home.  So we took a cab on over and hiked the hill.  As we came upon the temple (more of a small compound), a woman answered the door.  The Korean talkers of our group made the request, and within minutes a monk emerged.  He invited us in.  He let us take his picture.  Then he asked us to sit, along with his wife and grand-daughter who is also a student of mine.  And then he made us tea in the traditional Korean ceremonial way, exacted all the way to cleaning the cups, heating the cups, the way you hold the cup, the way you fold the napkin, the order in which you sip.  It was beautiful.  As we drank a few cups, he told us stories and opened up our minds to some aspects of his culture.  I did not understand a word, but I looked him in the eye anyway, and he spoke directly to me at times.  Respect, Yo.  Before we left, his wife gave us some nuts, some apples and a plethora of beads meant for different types of goodwill.  I teared up at the shear beauty and kindness of the whole matter.  We decided not to get a photo of Veda hiking in high heels (+3 points on the mission checklist) so as to go out on a wonderful note (this decision ended up costing us first place, but it was well worth it).

Then I thought "Wait a shit...monks can't have wives."

It turns out they can on rare occasions.  So there you go.  What a guy.

Self-betterment does not need to be a big picture.  You needn't only make the end result the goal, but rather the moments that may eventually lead to one.  This is what I'm learning in a number of different ways.  Many people here are beautifully gifted.  As writers, as artists, as learned scholars of foreign lands or the way our bodies metabolize complex carbohydrates.  Or bread bakers.  I meet these people and I think "Wow, I'll never reach their level of expertise in _________.  Why bother trying now?"  This is the attitude that has killed many spurts of inspiration for me.  And this is the most evil of all resistances.  The inner-scolding that there is some invisible reason that you cannot move forward.  The extenuating circumstance that sits somewhere out of sight and therefore can't be refuted by anyone, so fuck off-I'll listen to it.  My friend Jonno has a note on his door that says something to the tune of "You may not be able to become the best in the world at something, but you can damn sure get better."  I dig it.  I could use that somewhere visible to me constantly when I'm in my apartment.  I think hanging in the window would be the best bet, 'cause that's where I spend a lot of my time.  Or over the washing machine, where I eat.

In other news, have you ever seen the Diff'rent Strokes episode with The Bicycle Man?  It's wicked crazy.  Arnold and Dudley almost get molested by, well, The Bicycle Man.  If you have a spare hour, check this out.  You won't believe it.

Okay, readership is way down and I'm personally bored with this post, so I'm done.

Lovelovelove.

-LS^2

Most Beautiful Campus in the World pt. I

Most Beautiful Campus in the World pt. II

Can you find my name?

Big Kyeong's Batting Cages and Sexual Assault Emporium

Clementines and Nag Champa Ashes

I used to cry on Sunday nights.  'Roundabout the 4th grade years when all I was expected to do was dick around and occasionally tackle an impossible spite-spawned homework assignment from Mrs. Phillips.  I would hang with my close tribunal for two days straight, play Sega, drink Coke and eat macaroni.  I'd find my way into some demented impulse rental from the local video store and spend the late night/early morning hours cultivating my imagination's complex over-sexualization via the single Playboy hidden in Mark's basement.  And sure enough, come Sunday night-once the sun started to deflate over the basketball hoop, my mind would spiral into blackness, the tears would shimmy loose from the ducts and I'd become a mess of perceived injustice.  My justification (even at such an age, I felt this descent needed to be analyzed and diagnosed) was that it was unfair that I was able to pull such beauty from my free time only to have it put to an obligatory halt by the legalities of mandatory schooling.  Why couldn't I be trusted to run free into the wild and create my own world?  Why couldn't I throw myself into the ether and make my own way in this lump of a world and show each and every one o' you's just what I could make of myself?  Then, you know, come home when I got tired and watch wrestling.

Well, I'm proud to say I've grown up, though I won't say that I don't still relate to that little dreamer.  The workaday world is something that I think could be largely revamped, but I guess it's the world I live in, and escaping to Asia hasn't really changed that.  But no matter-I came here to work and I'm'a work.  I just happened to have had a wonderful weekend and wouldn't mind a few more consecutive weeks of it.  Drinks and pasta followed by lengthy conversations about Oasis on Friday, another trip to the Mungyeong Saejae Apple Festival and wine-soaked duck on Saturday, and today was a day of open-market shopping in search of the perfect mushrooms and Halloween costume.  Happy to say I found a satisfying place-holder for each.  So boom.

There's a lot of life to live.  Within it and outside of it, there are infinite things to ponder and learn.  Today: how my penis and testicles look tucked into a mini-skirt.  Tomorrow: the world.

Think about that, and contact me with any questions.

Namanasty, y'all.

-LS^2

Byum Jin drawing exactly what I told him to draw,

which is a pumpkin man, a big carrot, a small carrot,

a cow and wind blowing on all of them.

Popular opinion.

Haku and Harley (probably).

My niece Lily, just 'cause she's a bad ass.

Toes Totally Cut Off

11pm.  Where do the days go?

I often say that I hate to be a flake.  I follow this up with a justification that I'm actually not a flake but that this was a special circumstance.  Sly fox move, Bub, but it doesn't work.  If you flake, you flake.  Now this isn't to say that if you cancel a plan that you flaked.  They're separate issues, but often tied up real tight 'round one another.  But I flaked on the beach today and I felt bad doing so.

That being said, had I gone I would not have felt relaxed.  'Cause I had shit to do.  Biggest frog on the plate?  Clean the incredible amount of mold off of my wall.  It was pretty gruesome and I only discovered it recently when I tried to make use of the perfect little shelf conveniently blocking the patch of microscopic filth.  But some with my amazing improv skills as well as my power of assumption ('cause I have yet to learn "bleach" in Korean), I've turned that Incredible Hulk into a mere slab of sad wet looking cedar in the foyer.  I'll call it a foyer.  I also bought a half-ton bag of rice and an exfoliating loofa.  I might actually be a real person now.  To celebrate this, I preemptively ate an entire Hawaiian pizza last night.  On the way home from the parlor.  Call me King, my people.

I do feel, however, that I could be doing more to make sure this experience is as fulfilling as possible.  I could study more of the language and check out more of the culture.  This can be made difficult with such a rich community of other foreign teachers ("White Devils" as they've been spraypainting on our backs as we rest in the parks) and the all-knowing-all-omnipotent social-networking mediums in our pockets and homes.  I do justify this in that I'm still trying to wrap my big ol' head around the giant beehive that is the curriculum under which I teach.  It is a testament to the fact that even in this digital day, there are some systems in which paperwork is thriving as a means to victory.  And if that system fails, no matter: you simply add more paperwork to the equation!  My only qualm is that I don't understand it yet.  Once I get it, I'll own it.  And once I own it, I'll ruin it.  At least that's what I do with anything else I buy (shoes, nice hampers, quirky sunglasses...the list goes on).

Just kidding, Boss and Co-Workers.  You're all safe from my eventual status as #1.  As for the rest of you...

I almost bought a $40 box of apples at the Mungyeong Saejae Apple Festival on Saturday by accident.  Had Min Young not noticed my trembling knees knocking at the skirt of the Ol' Apple Lady tent, I would have been linguistically powerless to convey that I only wanted one fucking apple.  She started packing up a box, took my 50,000 won note and exchanged it for the 10,000 won note she gleefully handed back to my Dur-Stricken facehands and ignored my whimpers of protest.  That would have been a delicious bummer.  Lucky for me I have friends in Korean places.

A'ight, Yo.  It's 11:20 and time to begin my slow, distracted descent to sleep.  I should be proper laid out by 4am.  In the meantime, I'm'a go organize my hat or put on a second sock.

Be well.  Think forward.  Help kids.  Listen to Tame Impala or Honeycut.  Get a cool watch.  Learn to do something entertaining.  Write short stories.  Build a robot (if you can).  Learn to build a robot (if you want).  Learn to want to build a robot.

-LS^2

A beautiful park in Saejae.  I want to go back and

hike all around it, which means I gotta

grab some funky hiking garb.

Watching New York Minute at a hamburger joint.

I've never:

a) seen such masterful screenwriting, and

b) felt so much a part of this majestic culture.

What you do with your garbage.

Also, what I do with my garbage.

Zach and Kelly.

Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off

It's 2 minutes shy of midnight on Wednesday, October 10, the year of our Gourd 2012.  I sit in my APT in a shirt, slacks and a hiking hat I found in the hiking mountains (whilst hiking) just a little bit under the glass and satisfyingly under the shrimp.  That's right, Children, someone else was buyin'!

It's a good day today.  And this "Good Day" is not measured in quantity of stresses encountered, number of guitars I was able to play today or hours of sleep had ('cause in that case I'd be feeling right sour), but moreso in knowing that I'm conquering.  I'm stretching and trying and jumping and failing and learning and persevering and and and and...I'm stressed, but I'm good.  Had I not left LA, I'd still be working at a photo lab, wearing whatever I wanted, acquiescing to the smallest minds imaginable, remaining just barely above water financially and ultimately upset with myself for what I'm becoming.  ***by the by, Liberty taught me how to spell "becoming."  Weird, right?***  But here I am: fucking up, sweating bullets, incapable of communicating with my community fluently...and I'm stoked.  I dig it.  Not because that's an acceptable state of things, but because I'm getting better.  And better.  And meeting beautiful people.  And gaining all sorts of goodness that I'll eventually be able to bring to my permanent profession as a poetic gas station attendant.

Last night I had pizza.  I don't doubt that many of my strident legion of fans did also, but for me this was huge.  Well, not "huge," but big.  'Cause I had been having pizza dreams for a while and I was becoming (see that Liberty?) ravenous in my quest.  But last night James told me how to do it and Rebecca called me a pussy and the combination of confidence and degradation resulted in me eating an entire Hawaiian pizza at a bar and all the while retaining all self-respect and Studliness Factor.  Had anyone given me shit for that, I'd've surely broken them in thirds.

This song has been my mantra the last few days.  If you don't know The Janks, you're an imbecile for not attempting to do so.  I love The Janks.  I love The Janks.  I do.  Listen.

I miss Marco.  He means more to me than anyone in the world.  My love to him is constant and unconditional.

Sometimes you lose control of a classroom of 7-12 year olds.  I know, I know-you wouldn't think it!  But it happens.  And that's when you have to get creative.  Me?  Well, I act the fool.  I act the clown.  I do this for 2 reasons:
1. They're fucking kids.  They don't want a stodgy old den maurm, they want to be entertained.  So I give them that Suha Jamb Style that keeps them engaged and all the while thinking they're at a circus.  And
2. Because it's all the more powerful when I say "Okay, STOP!"  9 lives were halted today when I put down the hammer and for those 20 minutes I was Zeus.  Say what you will, it was powerful.  You fucking try it.

Oh, and I have a smart phone now.  I hateyouloveyouhateyouloveyouhateyouloveyouyoustupidfuckingbeast.

In conclusion, if you have pita bread, a guitar, interesting shirts or an exfoliating luffa, please send them to me.  If not, please tell Shayne "Hello" for me and find the Cancunian who stole my video camera in 2002.  Or do nothing, and be a part of what's wrong with the world.

That is all.  Be well.  More later.

-LS^2

Like Shaq on a B-Ball, I could palm my classroom.

Fungus.

3rd graders slam-dancing to King Washington.

Wonderful pic of a wonderful woman.

Melissa (co-worker), Aunup (11 feet tall) and Rebecca (English).

True Stuff and Made Up Stuff

Ugga ugga.  That's how I assume ODB would start a blog entry.
It's been a topsy turvy week, kids.  The long break meant I got to jaunt up to Busan and meet a friend of a friend who I am happy to call a Friend now.  No degrees of separation anymore.  One degree?  Either way, we slept in past noon, drank beers on the streets, wandered around some ancient temples and ate Mexican food in the afternoon.  All in all, that's a pretty rad way to spend the first few days of eternity.  Almost fairytalelike, no?  On the train there and back, I wrote letters and tried to sleep in what is now a growing catalogue of Uncomfortable Body Positions in Which I've Slept in the Last 2 Weeks. What a demented catalogue that would be: you could purchase my discomfort.  Eerie.  I think that's a Phil Dick novel.  I call him Phil.

I'm unsatisfied with my wardrobe, especially when I see 7 year old boys and 99 year old women with some of the sickest outfits ever.  I used to think hipsters had it going on, but now its the polarity of the Korean population.  I want to wear it all and ditch the button up shirts that fit better before I started wearing my championship belt all day every day.  That's what I think about my wardrobe.

Monday starts my official start to teaching classes all by myself.  I think it's safe to say that I am grossly unprepared.  Not through complete fault of my own or those around me, but a real group effort for sure.    I have a pile of folders in my bag next to me right now, and to be honest I'm not sure if I was supposed to take those out of the school or not.  I'm operating on the same instinct level that a newborn puppy may: walk toward the street into traffic until someone tells me not to.  Not knowing what I've done wrong, I'm equally likely to walk in the sidewalk or turn heel and walk to the other road.  I'm going to rely on the good students to inform me if I can in fact smoke pipe tobacco in the classroom or pick at my forearm scabs.  If I pay enough attention, I'm sure I'll start to notice a pattern.

Speaking of things, some of these stories I'm reading to the li'l muppets are downright bleeding with adult-themes.  To me it's quite heavy-handed, but see for yourself...

-Magic Marker - Cat named Maxi and parrot named Taco use their magic marker to make drawings come to life, save the day and trick Mrs. Black (the witch).
--More like two acid-heavy hoodlums with delusions of grandeur create chaos at their leisure while terrorizing an old woman.  Mrs. Black claims that the marker is hers, but our young "protagonists" just fuck with her.  What right do they have?!  They just happened upon the fuckin' thing in the forest!  The power of The Marker is no more theirs than anyone else's, and they're not making the world any better by drawing balloons or alligators.  If anything, this teaches children that you can hallucinate your problems away, which I only half-advocate.
-The Land of Ginormous - Big fat monster named Hopian comes to Danny to beg for help as Tristay has stolen all the color from The Land of Ginormous.
--Hopian has been given a thick Native American accent and is powerless to stop the perpetual and catastrophic rape of his land.  To make matters worse, he has been relegated to imploring the help of an apathetic white child with no real incentive to risk his life.  If these kids can't see the message being conveyed, I will help them.
-Little Envelope's Big Trip - A hopeful young envelope details her trip from a little girl's room to an elderly woman's nicer, comfier home.
--The young envelope is clearly a naive girl being sold into the sex trade.  Comments like "Open up my flap and put it inside me..."  or "Open me up--OUCH!  Be careful," are only the tip of the iceberg as this poor girl has been promised a life of servitude to the wealthy and seemingly gentle.  The harrowing honesty in which she details being herded through careless customs in the company of hundreds of equally powerless, paper-thin parcels breaks my heart.  Boggles my mind, it all does.

In the meantime, I'm going to have some drinks tonight to celebrate my trainer's last day, probably have more than I meant to, most likely talk louder than I need to, walk home later than I want to, sleep better than I deserve to and wake up that much closer to my imminent demise.

Take Care!

-LS^2

Trying out our new faces at the Andong Mask Festival.

Maskdance.  Dude's sniffin' her pee.  No joke.

Bear Hands and burritos.  Korean tradition.

Creepy as all fuckout.

Happy Holidays, Sistar!

Korean Pop.  I haven't formed a solid opinion yet, but I'm going to assume it will consume me down to the marrow by November and I will no longer be who I am today.  I will miss me, but it's what I have to do.  At least, that's my assumption.

Right now, I feel pretty Dog damn good.  I just taught my first day of classes today (albeit with the sturdy training wheels of Rebecca guiding me forward confidently) and we are now on a 5-day holiday.  Chuseok, yo.  A giving of thanks.  You might even call it a thanks giving.  But then you'd sound like a dumb-ass Westerner, and nobody wants that.  My strong sense of tradition tells me to get a beer and crack open the festivities by sluggin' back some suds, but my guts aren't terribly interested in that.  There is, however, a complete lack of open container laws here, so I could conceivably grab some makali and head to a video arcade.  If I knew where one was.  Jesus, that'd be some real fun...

"Love your life. It makes everything better when you make a point to do that." Lucas Ventura just threw that out there into the cybersphere and I think it's a right proper way to operate. Of course some people are 10 types of oppressed, damaged, put upon and persecuted far worse than I can imagine, so I won't fault them for feeling a bit shit on and maybe not appreciating my Disney advice, but I'm'a take it and run with it. Until I run out of pineapple juice (I have about 3/4 of a pint left). Then I'll be in absolute despair from which I don't believe I'll ever rebound.

Juice aside, I'm feeling great.  It's drizzling outside which always puts me in a good mood.  I met a shit ton of people last night, each cooler than the last (depending on the order in which they line up for such an appraisal) and my blueberries arrived in the mail today.  I now have plenty of blueberries.  Plenty.  Shit, man, come and get it.

Now I'm hungry.  One-and-a-half meals a day is not what I'm used to, though my fat ass could stand to scale back a bit.  It's nice to be gone from The Land o' Plenty o' Sandwiches.  If left to my own devices and lack of discipline, I would probably eat 14 square meals a day, all sandwich based.

Now I'm definitely hungry.

If this were a private blog, it'd be a much longer post, but that's the thing about blogs: they aint private.  What the hell would be the point? There are a lot more naked bodies and intricate aliens-versus-heavily-armed-children scenarios bouncing around in my noggin right now that I choose not to share with all y'all.  That's J material.  So we'll end things there, and I'll see you on the other side of whatever we're going through. With a little luck and a lotta finesse, we'll both be a lot studlier when we get there. So let's get to gettin'.

Much love, Sistar.

-LS^2

Rolling Life

맥주

You know what that says?  I do because it's written in Hangul which I'm learning very slowly because I can't do anything without it.  It says maekju, which is "beer," which is written at the top of my makeshift translation notebook right above "Hello."

Yesterday was the first day of training at the school.  A couple of hours of How Things Work Around Here explanation followed by 6 hours wherein I sat in the back of the classes and watched Rebecca do her magic.  I'm stoked for Day 2.  Upon first glance of Lucas the New, the li'l muppets were quick to revert to semi-maniacal giggle and instantly engaged me in unofficial staring contests.  This will be a good year.

Watching the children, I couldn't help but want to apologize to all the teachers in the past for whom I would never shut up.  What a 7 year-old thinks is charming might not translate to a poor teacher just trying to hold on 'til Happy Hour.  On that same note, I think all the boring classmates I had should feel the same sense of shame.  Put some life into it, Sister!  But all in all, just do your thing my Golden Children of Tomorrow.  We're not there to see eye-to-eye.  Except the kid in the afternoon class who chose "Rolling Life" as his English name.  He and I are probably going to start an indie band or an underwater fight club.

The real killer right now is jet lag.  I've always scoffed it off as something you cry about because nobody can really refute it unless they burrow into yo' brain, but it's biting my eyeballs in the ass right now.  I get tired at about 2pm (which is right when I start work), go to bed around 9 and wake up around 3 or 4.  I'm working to sharpen this, but I guess I've only been here about 60 hours, so get off my back.

And with that, it's off to the showers!  Then I gotta send a couple boxes of unneeded supplies back to Canada and figure out how to get a train ticket to Busan to meet a wonderful stranger.  It's about time I shared a maekju with someone.

Things I Need

• A serrated knife
• The two-week waiting period until I get my phone to go by
• A Ren & Stimpy tattoo

-LS^2

Pullin' no punches at the jewelry store.

Time to roll out my über trite self-directed
120-minute one man show subversively about abuse!

Ballin' (if you don't know the exchange rate).

Gwate!

"You dress good."

As requested, here I am.

By "here", of course, I mean in a 2-room APT on top of the school where I'll be teaching.  Yup yup, I'm living every kid's nightmare: I'm living at school.
Two planes and two busses were all that separated one hard mattress in Iowa to another in Mungyeong, South Korea.  The flights were painless enough: 15 combined hours of forced naps and studying.  There was even in-flight Tetris, but the controller was conspiring against me and severely hindered my score.  After that, an airport shuttle scooted me off to the most confusing leg of the trip where I got thoroughly lost and expelled an impressive amount of sweat trying to navigate the bustling streets and transpo stations.  But resourcefulness (ie help) got me to the terminal and my principal and his wife (Mr. Hyun and Ms. Kim) met me at the station.  The first thing Ms. Kim said to me:

"You dress good."

Thank you very much.  And with that, we were on our way home.

Home.  Awesome.

I got up this morning and did what I do every morning: took a cold shower and decided where I should store my shoes for the upcoming school year.  Around 8, Mr. Hyun and Ms. Kim prepared for me and subsequently watched me eat a breakfast of pork and vegetables.  I made the bold move to tell them that I don't eat meat very often as this is the time to make such gear shifts in life.  So boom.

I'm feeling studly and ready after a walk around the neighborhood.  True, I'm inside talking about what I've done so far rather than actually doing anything, but I felt my public must be fed their alloted dose of Lucas, so here I am, vomiting into your mouths the stuff of which dreams are made.

That's it for now.  It's only 10:30am but I do believe it's time to continue mapping out this new world so as to eventually govern it.  From space.  Which is where I think I'll teach next.

Things I Need

• A swift and firm grasp of the Korean language
• Hangers

Be well, everyone.  I'll do the same.

-LS^2

Blanket waiting for me upon arrival.  It's like they know me already.

View from my balcony.

Other view from my balcony.

My apartment's very own Self Destruct button.