thoughtjunkie

Nerds are the only people worth knowing. That’s because the term “nerd” doesn’t refer to a person with a pocket protector and a particular style of horn-rimmed glasses. It doesn’t refer to people who are socially inept, or people who lack flare, gravitas, or presence.

There are computer nerds, botany nerds, word nerds, baseball nerds. There are design nerds, and porn nerds, and car nerds. Paint nerds, drug nerds, film nerds, wine nerds, carpentry nerds. Nerd is just a synonym for passion.

What do you think fantasy football is? It’s D&D for football players. It’s a group of guys, sitting around in someone’s den with Cheetos and Mountain Dew, scribbling on pieces of paper, and being upset when they lose. Er. “Lose.”

“I drafted so-and-so.” No you did not.

“I’ve got the defense of the Stealers, and Brett Favre as QB.” Yeah? Well my lvl 17 Night Elf mutliclass, has the constitution of a warrior, and the magic of an elementalist, plus a +8 Sword of Mighty Might.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

If you were in a bed and breakfast in hell, this is what the alarm clock would sound like.

Hey yall, it's been a while. Let me explain...

There is too much, let me sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less than half an hour......

Srsly though, there's way too much for met to rehash all of Orientation in Suwon, Orientation in Jeju-do, and the Awkward Meal of Epic Awkwardness with my school's principal/head teacher (to give you an idea: it was too awkward for me. Yeah. YEAH).

So instead, I'm just going to run through my time since moving into my new apartment (which happened yesterday). I'll try to throw in a few mini-flashback sequences, so you can get a broader perspective. Yeah.

The TaLK program has assigned every teacher a coteacher (a Korean college student who's in an internship which, as far as I can tell, is "Babysit this stupid American and also help him run his classroom"). My coteacher's name is Nakyung, and she's pretty cool. She's actually an English lit. major, and is also 16 years old (US age-- Korean age is different; you're 1 year old when you're born, and because it's on a lunar calendar, people born at the end of the year actually gain 2 years in Korea. Yes, it's confusing. No, it's not just confusing because I phrased it poorly, and tried to cram it all into one sentence. She's so young because she skipped middle school, because she's a smartypants.

Side Story: Everyone got a cell phone (Jei, Tom, all the friends we met during orientation-- Salvador, whose voice could make him the next Morgan Freeman; Thai-An, who acts exactly like a Sailor Moon character) three days ago. Apparently, to sign up for a cell phone, you need to be a resident of Korea-- I'll be an official resident of Korea in 2 weeks, when I get my Alien Registration Card. How everyone else was able to get their cell phones, was, their coteachers signed the contract (and they're just paying through their coteachers). I go to the phone shop, spend 25 minutes figuring out which contract I want, figuring out the bells and whistles, deciding on a phone, etc, all back and forth through Nakyung's translation. We go to sign the contract, and Nakyung shows her ID. "I'm sorry," the clerk says, "you're too young. We can't have minors signing contracts." Apparently, you're still a minor when you're 18, in Korea. That was stupid as hell, and is just one more reason why I feel all isolated and stuff.

Yesterday, my mentor teacher picked me up from the hotel (you know the hotel... The Only 3-star Hotel In The World Without Internet). We had a 1 hour car ride, which was tolerably awkward, because Nakyung is interesting to talk to about literature (she's promised to get me some English translations of Korean lit, if I give her some good contemporary English lit-- any ideas, anyone?). We drove straight to my school, which is tiny. There's 110 students total, between 1st-6th grades (and just 6 classrooms, and office, and a library, in the school). Since I'm teaching a voluntary afterschool program, the attendance will drop to somewhere between 5 and 12 students per class (instead of the maximum 18.2). That is hella-manageable.

But yeah. They gave me iced coffee, and Nakyung and I went and wandered around the facilities. All dusty, rundown classrooms, with huge brand-spankin'-new flat screen plasma TVs (I could use the out-of-place TVs as a metaphor for myself, but that would be asinine, pretentious, and silly). We parked ourselves in the computer lab (the main door was locked, but there was a door literally right next to it that wasn't). Apparently, my mentor teacher went looking for us for about 20 minutes, and didn't even think to check the computer lab. When we found her, eventually, she was like "How did you get in there? It was locked!" Security!Fail.

Side Story 2: During orientation in Suwon, they warned us about the apartments. "You'll have one tiny room, and probably a shared bathroom. Your room will have a bed-- probably smaller than a twin-sized bed, a tiny fridge, and probably, maybe, a desk. If you're really lucky, you'll have a hot plate."

Here is a brief description of my apartment: Spacious studio. Decently large bathroom. Air conditioning and heating (for the winter). A (real) balcony (aka, not one made of metal mesh, that extends half the width of my shoulders). Queen sized bed, full stovetop, kitchen table, lots of cabinet space, an armoire, and hardwood floors. My apartment is also on the outskirts of town. It's located half a block from a few food stores and 2 blocks from a very cool expat bar. The other direction, my apartment is a 20 minute walk (through tangerine groves, mind you) from what everyone tells me is one of the most gorgeous beaches on the island.
I have only two complaints about my apartment. 1: The shower head is hooked up to the bathroom faucet (which is common, in Korean bathrooms), which is unfortunately right next to the door. The door's been sprayed and soaked with water so much, that it's warped and no longer fits in its frame, so the bathroom door doesn't close (I'm gonna ask my landlady to replace it-- it's in the process of rotting and falling apart, and that shit ain't cool). And 2: I have no internet, yet. I paid my landlady to hook it up, but it has yet to work. Unfortunately, she doesn't speak a word of English, and my coteacher is on vacation in Seoul for about 5 days. Looks like I'll just be using the PCban (ban = room. So, PC room) for a little while longer. Grr...

Side Story 3: After I moved in (Nakyung was there when I met my landlady), Nakyung and I went out to find dinner. A little while after that, she got a call from my landlady (who, I think, assumed that we'd parted ways earlier). Apparently, my landlady was just asking her if I (being the white devil that I am) had swine flu. I laughed, when Nakyung relayed this to me, and then she told me that apparently the Korean newspapers say that 50% of all Americans have swine flu. I told her "Um... I think it's actually, like, 50 people total." So, I learned something that day: Fox News is not the only "legitimate" news outlet that speaks nothing but bunk.

So, without a cell phone, and without the internets, I've been feeling mighty isolated, for the first time in a month (during all 4 weeks of orientation, I've been around Tom and Jei pretty much all the time, and before that, you know, I was hangin with you lovely Swine Flu Infectees). Last night, I talked to Ms. Kara Prior for the first time in about a week and a half, which was sweet, and also arranged to meet Jei and Tom (Salvador, Thai-An, et al) today around 4:00. I was to log on to skype/gchat around 2:00 to confirm the specifics.

I walked on down to the beach, did my laundry (zomg, laundry machine in my apt. complex is free!!), and went up to the PCban. Apparently it started raining all torrential-like as soon as I got up here (though I couldn't tell; the PCban, like all good nerd establishments, lacks any source of natural light, and the thrum from the 50-plus computers drowns out the pounding of any rainstorm). I talked with Jei and Tom (Tom wasn't sure if he could make it to the Seogwipo Bus Terminal by 4:00, but said he'd try. Jei said "Yes. I'll make it." She expressed an interest in taking a raincheck, but I was feeling so cut-off, that I kinda twisted her arm into agreeing to come.

I got on the bus (which was difficult because, you know, I don't speak a word of Korean). I get to a big building that says Seogwipo Bus Terminal, and get off. I go inside, and wait. I realize, too, that I'm virtually broke (I've got tons of money in my bank account, but only one bank in Korea allows for international withdrawals). I've got just over 2,000 won, and the only international ATM in the southern half of the island is in the center of a city I've never been to, which is in the opposite direction from my apartment's town. That, and I'm hungry (from failing to eat lunch). 55 minutes pass, just sitting in the bus stop.

There's nothing quite like going to meet friends who fail to show up, being lost and hungry and out of money, in a place where you are functionally illiterate and lack communication skills beyond rudimentary charades. I do not recommend the experience.

Forge on, as it were. I asked 5 different Korean business men which bus would get me to KB bank. None of them spoke English. Eventually, I found the right bus-- the bus driver was one of those super nice ones, who turns round in his seat at your stop, and says "Here, here. You here. Yes."

I wandered in the approximate direction of Not Into The Water (because that was the only way to go from where I was), and felt thoroughly lost. The rain was still torrential, and my umbrella flipped upside down (umbrellas + coastal winds = not friends). Fixed my umbrella more or less, and ducked inside a hotel named "French Hotel." The concierge was not French (thank God. See, "Why Parisians Can Suck My Balls"), and when I asked "KB Bank?" his face lit up and nodded vigorously. He rummaged around beneath the counter, and reappeared with an umbrella, and jogged right out the door. Then, gave me good and precise directions to the bank.

Got to the bank, got my moneys. Wandered around a market for a bit, and then walked into the first restaurant that looked homely. I judged correctly-- it was family run, and the dad of the family made me cold noodles. Imagine this: Slushy flavored with only red chili paste. Put noodles, cucumber, and diced hard-boiled egg in it. That was my meal. It was amazing, but probably only because I was famished by that point. The dad tried to make conversation as well as he could (I was the only client), and eventually, we watched baseball on the TV.

Left, went and found the bus stop, without issue. Then, got on the wrong bus.

I asked the bus driver "Jungmun?" (Jungmun being the city where I live) and he said "Yes, Jungmun." What he meant was "I drive to the Jungmun Resort Hotel, which is a 45 minute walk from the city." I got out there, but I was dry and fed and had money, so I made the trek all uphill into town. I made it back at 9:00, from leaving at 3:15.

Yes, so that's what I did today and yesterday. And now my livejournal is happy. I'll be copying/pasting this to my blog too, which you should all follow.

We had to have props for a mock lesson, today. My group made little journals we were supposed to decorate.

They should know: Never, ever, give me a set of markers and say "Go. Do."
Not ever.

Time passes, dreamlike and sprinkled with flashes of nightmare-- the eyes-rolled-back snarl of a teacher; kimchi that tastes of fire and blood; the anglerfish horrors of the Suwon fish market.

But things are good, you laugh over minor cultural misunderstandings with new friends, and spin classic Korean references into Americanized threats-- "Don't make me call my friend in Jeju-do. He come up here and crack skulls till I get a drink, biatch." The sun and the humidity conspire to steam you on the way to your Crowd Control 101 class, but it's only a halfhearted effort. On the bus, you dodge scowls from toothless Korean geezers with a bow and grin.

Waiting for an elevator one day, you joke with one of the orientation coordinators.
"All this heat," he tells you, "you're probably going to lose some weight."
"I hope so," you tell him, crossing your fingers, and deciding not to take the remark personally.
"Really? I thought that in America, having more weight showed that you could afford to feed yourself very well," he tells you. You smile, like it's a weird joke you're missing the social cues to pick up on. When all you get back is an earnest stare, you explain that that line of thinking was true for France in the 15-hundreds, but nowadays Americans are just fat because of eating poorly and little to no exercise. You start to explain that the leading research shows that high-fructose corn syrup actually eliminates the body's ability to tell the brain that it's full, but the elevator doors slide open and you can see that he's already lost interest.

There's a terrifying coordination in some of the Sports Day groups. A sort of militant efficiency that comes from synchronized chanting and the muscle-pop of testosterone. There's grit in their voices and veins that bulge from throats. The chain of command is easy to spot, top down, orders that get barked over dodgeballs and across bugbitten links in the human rope. There's a violence inside their organization, and it all seems rather silly for 10,000 won worth of KFC gift certificates.

One night, you go to Noraebang and warble through the echo of the mic. You learn that "Bohemian Rhapsody" is not, under any circumstances, a good warm-up song. You drink $3 ciders and bounce on the couches, waiting for the booklet of songs. You struggle to keep up with Eminem's lung capacity, and Matthew Bellamy's stratosphere pitch, and have a fantastic time. There's talk of purchasing a third hour, but you eventually decide against it.

You Skype obsessively. Your girlfriend's still in Iowa, a 14-hour time difference, and you phone her at 11pm, so when she answers, you get to poke fun at her bed-crazy hair. She complains: "I haven't even brushed my teeth yet." You tell her that she probably tastes like day-old tuna and half eaten broccoli. You make faces and gagging sounds, but you wonder if you're right. You skype other folks too-- your mom, who still hasn't figured out her webcam; your friend who works the graveyard shift at a college parking ramp; your old roommate who wants to talk writing and art and philsophy with you. For all these things, if you could make love to the internet, you would (but only if the internet was into it, and only if it weren't a dude, and not if it were into anything freaky... which, knowing the internet, it probably would be).

In Seoul, you see a legless man drag himself down the street, face down on a skateboard. He's filthy with dirt the pedestrians kick up from the street. Grime collects in the wrinkles in his face, deep grooves that cut through his forehead from hours and days of straining to look up. He's tied tire rubber onto his stubs to cope with the constant friction with the street. He's got a radio that he shoves along in front of him, screeching the peppy K-pop noodle-eating song they played in your dance class. The song's happiness sours, from his radio. You wonder how the world looks from his perspective; just shoes and pantcuffs and cigarette butts, and the occasional glint of money: yes! 50 won! You think this in the disgustingly blase way that rich, white, employed college kids think about these things-- a flickering curiosity that's gone by the next knicknack shop. You cannot fathom the inherent nihilism, the raw hopelessness, of his situation because hopelessness is a word you simply do not understand. You see three more men, legless or paralyzed, their thighs withered and atrophied. You do not give them money.

In class, you wince at misspellings and grammatical faux pas that your fellow soon-to-be teachers stumble into. But they're nice folks, by and large, and they're in front of the class for the first time, so you decide it's okay to cut them some slack.