I'm changing all my strings; I'm gonna write another Travelin' Song.

Things are looking up. A few snags here and there, but I keep my chin up and push through my heartaches and headaches. I’m sitting in a coffee shop in the Daecheon bus terminal. This weekend I went to Daejeon (the capital city of my province) with an affectionate friend. She shopped for her father’s birthday present and I drank copious quantities of coffee and tried to rationalize my caffeine dependency. There are worse vices, but apparently warming your neck three times a day with searing battery acid is not everybody’s idea of a good time. Something about a woman’s scorn. Whatever.

I think my package from Mum is in the air by now. The young man goes leaves his friends and family to discover something new and uncharted. His hasty search leaves him weary-eyed and heavy-hearted, after forgetting his name and burying his books. The young man sends a letter to old friends begging them to forgive his cultural betrayal, but they turn their heads and raise their noses in disgust. But Mum was still there. Mum sent coffee, cheese and bread pudding. Mum loved her little boy. Mum sacrificed life and limb to keep his tummy full and his feet pointed in the direction they should go. Mum showed photos to family and friends praising the life she had made. Others pointed and interrogated the photos of the soldier of linguistic imperialism, but Mum just smiled and prayed and shrugged off the young man’s shortcomings and celebrated his triumphs. I love you, Mom.

Daejeon reminded me a lot of LA. Bright lights. Big city. Houses of ill-repute. Queer smiles, fake friends and sensationalized portrayals of women splattered across merchant walls. If it weren’t for the sub-zero temps and four inches of snow, I think it would have been a magnificent place to be this weekend. Thank God for the internets. I watch the Real World and The Office every week and this keeps me grounded. I don’t have enough drama or awkwardness in my life so I choose to outsource it. Sweet. I may not know what’s going to happen in the feud between Chet and JD or in Angela’s (fictional character, mind you) twisted relationship with Dwight, but for those 20-45 minutes I am concerned about something else besides which sam-gyup-sal (it’s a certain cut of pork) restaurant I’m going to eat at. For those 20-45 minutes I get to partake in a kind of internationally endorsed voyeurism that’s hard to come by through most other media.

Different subject. There’s this song called “Pretty Girl” that just came on the radio that is freaking hilarious. Not only does it exemplify the feminine ideal in this country, it is so absurdly blatant about that portrayal that at first I couldn’t discern whether or not the lyrics were just inane or some kind of satirical feminist commentary.

Either way, it is freaking amazing.

My bus leaves in a few, so next week: same time, same place, yeah?

News Flash: Andrew is susceptible to bad British accents.

I've been out a few nights with this bloke called Tim. He's from Southwest Britain. Normally, I keep my American posture--tie lynching my neck, proper and boring with the occasional regional give-away, "Dude"--but after a few pints of awful awful Korean beer, I find myself swimming in organic Britishisms. Saying "yeah?" after every other sentence, affirmative "right, rights," a few I can't mention, and I even uttered "bloody hell" and "blimey" at one point. The grandest part of this seemingly contrived dialect shift: Most of the time, it goes absolutely unnoticed. I'm a passing Brit. We chastise Tony Blair and toast to the queen and nobody bats an eye. This may be because others do not differentiate us in this country, so we now lack the ability or desire to differentiate ourselves. I suppose my understanding of my identity completely relies on context. Further proving that an innate, unique self doesn't exist. I don't exist. But I graduated college a while ago, so I really don't need to discuss this.

The other night I was at Vitamin's apartment, spending the evening with he and his family. And while his wife and two daughters slaved over a hot stove and a cutting board, the men of the house sat on the couch, complacent and aloof, watching the soccer game. The men of the house couldn't be bothered with woman's work, after all, Beckham was on. The men of the house didn't lift a finger; that would threaten their masculinity. God forbid. I tried to walk over and help at one point, but was asked to stay and watch the game. The gender divide was apparent. The work delegated. I shouldn't rock the boat. I should just sit back in front of the television like a toothless blockhead and ignore patriarchal oppression, ignore inequality, ignore blaring double-standards. Put away your soap-box, Drew. This isn't the time. All those texts you read about gender politics and feminism need not apply here. They are loftly Americanisms. You shouldn't rock the boat. Yeah, you needn't the boat.

Moving on, dinner was delicious. I'm glad I didn't meddle and mess it up. We had kimbop, which is like a sushi roll with pork, cheese, radish, and egg wrapped in rice and seaweed. As for the photograph, my co-teacher didn't use flash for any of the pictures that night inside his apartment, so this was the least blurry of the lot. Keep in mind, the previous discussion is just a cultural thing that sort of gets under my skin. In no way is it a reflection on the character of my co-teacher.

I'm at Will's this weekend in Seosan, I'm looking forward to it. It's still snowing like the dickens, but that won't stop this group from having a good time. Whelp, I'm about to hit the streets. We'll meet back her in about a week. Ciao.

Eh.

This post may be more introspective than most, but I've been spending quite a bit of time inside so I suppose my explorations will follow suit. I find that I rarely think I am ready to experience things or take on new roles until I'm actually doing them. A sort of self-propelled trial by fire. I almost have to approach situations with my eyes closed and dukes up in order to avoid complacent idleness. I could surmise where this comes from, but that would be a colossal waste of time. Anyway, I was thinking about my impending Japan trip: how I'm going to a different country that I know virtually know nothing about (anything practical) and how I came half way across the world to pursue a profession that I had little experience (although I certainly do now) and how I'm planning on traveling Europe post-haste after my contract is finished. But the funny thing is, with all of these uncharted experiences and responsibilities, none of this scares me. Well...perhaps a little, but not merely as much as it should--not nearly as much as it scares the people around me out of empathy. This is sort of ill-conceived, overzealous, blind barreling routine will probably fail me eventually, but as for now, it ain't broke.

As for my town, it has been a little over a month and honestly, I'm sort of bored with the place. It isn't that I hate it; I've just run out of ostensible things to do. The bars here are rubbish, but then again, I never really was much for bars. The pool halls are filled with smoke, middle-aged men and teenagers. All of them burning holes through my white mug and quietly muttering to themselves, "What is he doing here? Contractor or English teacher. Yeah. English teacher. He's too young to make that kinda money. His face is too affable for a hard-nosed German businessman." Believe me. This sort of thought process is more than speculative. This came straight from the mouths of babes--nay--brats.

Recently, my schedule has lightened up. School ended on Wednesday, so I only have to teach the kids who actually want to be there. Excellent. Out of a school of 1,200+ kids, only about 20 signed up. Divided into 6 classes a day by 2 teachers. I teach from 12:10pm to 3pm everyday and it is absolutely brilliant. Added bonus- the classes are strictly conversational and we talk about whatever the 3 boys in each class want to talk about. No lesson planning. No curriculum. No Powerpoint presentations. Just extemporaneous conversation and Youtube. Ah, the internet. How you have made us all immeasurably lazy, yet interconnected. You have taken the nerves out of dating, the planning out of lesson planning, and the unprofessional professional look professional. I'm also being paid extra for doing these classes because they are supplemental (yet, required for me to teach) and not part of the regular school year.

I will be going to Seosan tomorrow probably and I'll update you more after the weekend. Goodnight and good riddance.

Sick. "I fight like hell to hide that I've given up. Woo!"

My lingering cold will not die for the life of me. It seems that just as soon as I think it’s on the way out, it lurks around the corner and waits to capitalize on my obliviousness. I'll admit that much of this is self-induced (forgetting to sleep enough and staying out in the snow for too long), but this menace has taken center stage in my life recently and refuses to mind the curtain. It has even curtailed my social life a bit. I was supposed to celebrate New Years with the Seosanians, but instead I stayed home and slept. Likewise, I was supposed to go to Busan this weekend (a coastal city on the Southeast corner) but decided that I didn't want to further my sickness.

In other news, I booked my ticket for Osaka to see my friend, Brynn. Nothing funny. Her boyfriend lives a stone's throw away. Originally, I had planned to go to Tokyo while in Japan, but decided against it because for a few reasons, the primary being cost. Actually- the others are worth mentioning: She referred me to a few websites for lodging and train times, but the whole thing looked pretty overwhelming. I saw an imbalance between the amount of time and money I would spent planning a trip to Tokyo and the amount of things I would actually want to do and see there. The resource expenditure/fun ratio didn't really leave me satisfied. Also, as humbling as this is, I'm sort of a novice world traveler; so the idea of getting on a night bus for 8 hours to a city I've never been to, in a country where I don't speak the language to find some remote hostel was sort of unsettling. Yeah, it’s an adventure, but I'm taking baby steps. (Note: I wrote the past two paragraphs after watching hours of British comedy. Two things: (a) This is explains why I have the voice of a pretentious jackass and (b) it’s important that you read this passage with a thick British accent. Like, don’t even be apologetic about it. Thick British accent.)

I’ve been watching a lot of British comedy recently. Since my foreigner status deemed me unsubscribable to the tele service, DVDs are about all I have at this point. I was livid about the blatant foreigner discrimination, but I guess every nation needs to have a proverbial dog to kick. Better make it a minority. Anyway, it took me a while to warm up to it, but British comedy is some of the cleverest, most outlandish, uncomfortable filth I’ve ever witnessed. A fellow English teacher loaned them to me, a bloke by the name of Andy. Yes, in a school virtually devoid of any English names, we are blessed with an Andrew and an Andy. I was surprised at how quickly the kids caught on. Maybe it’s because his name is Andy and mine is Andur-rew.

So, my week and weekend were pretty uneventful due to my viral nemesis. I’ll be checking in soon.