Cens■rsh■p

        A couple days ago, I put up a post about my trip to Seoul.  As you may have noticed, it’s not here anymore.   Why’d I delete it?  Well, there’s one main reason: I really, really don’t want to get fired.  I like Korea.  I’ve made a ton of great friends.  I like my job so far (even though I haven’t actually started it.)  So this blog is going to be just a little different from here on out.
        I’m gonna hold back on posting some of the more questionable material.  Trust me, this goes against every instinct that I have.  I’d rather put everything out there, tell the best stories I have, and make no excuses for it.  However…I’m friends with my boss on Facebook.  There’s a chance she’s reading this right now.
        That’s not to say I’ll start lying on here or anything.  It’s just that instead of telling R-rated stories, they’ll be more in the PG to PG-13 range.  I’m taking it as a challenge.  I think I can keep this thing entertaining without pushing the limits quite so much.
        In addition to the Seoul post, there’s already been one other post that I didn’t type up yet because I thought it might cause problems (See, I do have some discretion!).  BUT, I will still keep writing down my craziest stories, and I’ll probably post them once I’ve finished working here.  Or if you want to read them before then, just send me an email at npearlst@asu.edu with the subject line “TELL ME ALL YOUR SECRETS.”  Then I’ll just send you the shadier stories as I write them.  Anyway, that’s all for now.  Happy weekend!

The Pit Of Despair

        In the beginning, I thought Korean food wasn’t half-bad.  Sure, the flavors were different, and maybe kimchi wasn’t ever gonna be my thing, but I figured I’d grow to like it the more I experienced it.  I was wrong.  I realize I might be generalizing here, but Korean food is absolutely awful.  Most meals, I eat a pile of rice and a small spoonful of the mystery meat du jour.  One dinner, they mixed in tons of beansprouts and other vegetables with the rice, and I ended up not eating anything at all.

Pretty standard Korean meal.  You can tell I didn't take this picture because there's WAY too much food on the plate.

     
        With such wonderful breakfasts as “Vegetable gruel and French fries,” is it any wonder things aren’t going so well here?  And of course, there’s always kimchi.  Kimchi is a pickled lettuce dish that’s flavored with Korean spices and can be prepared about 100 different ways.  Fun fact: Every Korean has a normal refrigerator and a refrigerator solely for storing kimchi.  It’s that big of a deal.  And I’ve found that in every variation, it’s totally inedible.

Kimchi!  Not how I want to start off my day.  Or end it.  Probably not in the middle, either. 

 
        Of course, part of the problem is that I’m eating cafeteria food three times a day.  If I was a foreigner and I went to a college dining hall in America seven days a week, I’d probably think American food was pretty sick, too.  But since I’m in this position for the next week or so (and I can’t go out for every meal) something needed to be done.  Lucky for me, I saw that cooking classes were being offered at night.  If you want something done right, do it yourself, you know?
        Now I had been taking Korean language classes at the time, so I had a huge decision on my hands….just kidding.  It took me all of .5 seconds to drop language and sign up for cooking.  So that first night, I went into the cafeteria, which I've taken to calling the Pit of Despair (coincidentally, the name could also be applied to my toilet.)  Anyway, in the back corner of the caf, there were a bunch of stations set up with vegetables and meat and sauces.  The food hadn’t even been cooked yet, but it just looked good.  About fifteen other people showed up, and then the main chef gave a demo.  She was cooking a beef dish called bulgogi.  It basically consisted of throwing everything in the pan and then stir-frying it.  It seemed idiot-proof.  But then again, this is me we’re talking about.
        Here’s a story:  Once, I actually ruined a can of tomato soup by burning it.  That seems impossible, right?  But somehow, someway, I overcooked the soup.  It caramelized and ended up tasting kinda like that weird black ash you get on the outside of marshmallows when you’re making s’mores.  It was awful.  The only thing I’ve ever really been able to cook is pasta, and that’s because I do it about twice a day.  Anything else is just asking for disaster.
        Thankfully, our cooking class was split up into groups, and I got paired with people who knew what they were doing.  They let me chop up a red pepper, and then for the rest of the time I “supervised.”  In the end I got to eat some pretty tasty food.  As usual, all my hard work was rewarded.

Cooking team!

        Since then, I’ve gone back pretty much every day classes have been offered.  The food has all been really good, and I’ve even started doing crazy chef things like “stirring” and “sautéing.”  Now, when I go to the cafeteria during the day, I have the urge to run back to the kitchen and be like, “OUT OF THE WAY.  IRON CHEF NOAH MORIMOTO COMING THROUGH.”  I haven’t gone that far yet, but if they serve one more dehydrated fish corpse (skeleton included) I might just have to take matters into my own hands.  Anyway, at least I’m not starving anymore.  You adjust to your circumstances and you make the best of it, and life usually turns out alright.  But good god, kimchi is disgusting.  

In My Craft Or Sullen Art

        I’m a pretty creative guy.  Writing, photography- anything that involves self-expression is alright in my book.  So when I heard we were going to have an hour a day of Korean art class, I was excited.  One, I figured it’d break up the monotony of the seven hours of lecture, and two, it seemed like it’d give me a new window into their culture.  Unfortunately, after a couple days of class, I’ve only really learned one thing: Korea’s not ready for my creativity.
        The first day of art class was focused on Korean painting.  I went over to my desk and found a sheet of thin paper, an ink block, a brush, and water.  Our teachers thus far had been pretty fluent in English, but the art teachers didn’t seem to speak a word of it.  So (with the help of a translator) the art lady explained that we’d be painting some kind of flowery nature thing, and then she handed out sample drawings that she’d made.  We all thought this was really cool, until we looked at each other’s paintings and realized they were all exactly the same.  Had she photocopied these things?  Or had she really drawn the same scene again and again?  My question was answered about two seconds later when she sat down at a station and showed us how it was done.  When the painting was finished (it took her less than five minutes), it turned out to be a perfect replica of all the others.  That’s when I should’ve known- Korean art isn’t about individuality.  It’s more like coloring between the lines.
        Anyway, I sat down with my paper in the middle and her painting on the right, and I began.  Big surprise, mine didn't look like hers.  While her lines were narrow and jet black, mine were a watery gray mess.  I finished the painting, but in the end, it just looked awful.  I wanted another shot at it.
        So I picked up another sheet and started drawing the same first couple lines…and then I thought, “You know what?  This doesn’t look like a plant.  It looks like a dolphin.”  In light of this epiphany, I decided to go with an ocean theme.  I drew the water and the sun and a person surfing on a fish.  It wasn’t very good, but it was mine.
        Before long, the instructor started making rounds, and that’s when she spotted my work.
        “Oh no no no no!” she said.  It was like she’d seen a dead baby or something.  She grabbed the painting and pulled it over to her.  And then, in a moment that completely took me by surprise, she started painting over my work.  WHAT??  She drew the same strokes she’d drawn so many times before, except now there was a beach scene in the background.  When she finished, she handed it back to me, smiled, and walked away.  I was in disbelief.

My genius defiled

        Still, I went back to art the next day with a positive attitude.  Maybe the painting teacher didn’t appreciate my originality, but now we were doing something totally different- Korean paper art.  At first, I figured it would be like some kind of origami, but as it turned out, we were making paper fans.  We were handed a square sheet with a bunch of Korean characters on it, and we were told to cut out any shape we wanted.  After that, we were supposed to attach a handle.  That’s it.  It should’ve taken five minutes at the most.
        I decided to make a fairly normal shaped fan, except with mini spikes all around the edge.  I started cutting the fan out, and by the end of it, I thought it looked pretty good.  Of course, then the teacher came around to check our work.  It was déjà vu.
        “No no no!”  she said.  “Yaka sama mayo…etc.”  She didn’t speak English either, so I had no idea what she was saying, but she didn’t look too thrilled.  Some Korean kid behind me translated.  “You see that ribbon on the table?” he said.  I looked down and saw the ribbon for the first time.  “That has to be glued around every edge, or the fan will fall apart.  She wants you to cut your fan down so it has a smooth edge, otherwise it’s gonna take forever to cover each little part.”
        That put me in a tough spot.  Was I going to allow my work to be censored yet again?  Sorry teacher, not this time.  I started cutting the ribbon into small pieces and glued them on one by one.  It took me about 1 minute per edge, and there were around fifty of them, so it wasn’t looking like I’d be able to finish in time.  After a few minutes, the assistant teacher came over and reached out, as if to say, “Give me the fan.”  I had some reservations, but she was cute, so I handed it to her.  Then, she picked up the ribbon and began doing my work for me.  I felt like a regular Tom Sawyer.
        “Hey, I can do that,” I said.
        She just laughed and kept working.  Since I didn’t have anything else to do, I figured I’d strike up a little conversation.
        “So you’re a teacher?” I said.
        “Teacher,” she said.
        “Do you usually teach older kids”- I reached my hands up in the air- “or younger kids?” and I put my hand down by the ground.
        “Younger,” she laughed.
        While she kept taping up my fan, I got the attention of one of the kids who’s fluent in Korean.
        “How do you say, “good teacher” in Korean?
        “Cho-un san-sang-neem.”
        Well, I repeated that to her, and she cracked up.  It must’ve been the funniest thing she’d ever heard.  I wondered if I’d actually just said something embarrassing, but I double checked it with someone else, and it really did mean “good teacher.”  I guess it’s easy to be a comedian over here.
        Sadly, as the hour drew to a close, so did our short-lived romance.  I (she) finished the fan about two minutes before class let out.  It had taken us about forty-five minutes more than anyone else.  But that fan was a triumph.  A masterpiece.  I could’ve cooled down the entire school with that thing.

In 100 years, this'll be in the Louvre.  Or a landfill.

        The main teacher came by one more time, smiling and shaking her head.
        “It’s good, right?” I said, holding out the fan.  She took it, looked it over for a few seconds, and then fanned herself with it.
        “Yes,” she said.  “Very good.”

Using A Lot Of Toilet Paper Is Inappropriate

        There are rules here, and you better not break them.  If you’re late to class by one minute, you get a demerit.  If you’re late for the 11 pm curfew, demerit.  Five demerits and you get sent home.  Needless to say, I’m not such a big fan of this.  Almost everything about the TaLK program has been wonderful so far…but this stuff is a little bit on the militant side.  And I’ve barely even scratched the surface of all the rules.  Men can’t go in the women’s dorm and vice versa.  There are even six rules in every bathroom for how to correctly use the toilet (one of which is the title of this post).  But all the rules in the world won’t change the fact that we’re a bunch of college students and twenty-somethings in a concentrated area.  As far as I can see, something’s gotta give.
        So after a full day of lectures, we headed out at 9 pm for the benches.  The benches are basically some picnic tables set up outside a convenience store, and it’s the place where we can hang out and drink.  It makes me feel sorta like the homeless guy you see drinking outside a 7-Eleven, but it’s all good.  In Korea, alcohol is a pretty big deal, and it’s cheap.  The most popular liquor- soju- is sold for a buck a bottle.  It’s less expensive than water.  You can’t really beat that.
        We got a couple bottles and started playing a Korean drinking game called 007.  The first person says “zero” in Korean and points at another person, who then also says “zero.”  That person points at someone else, who says “seven,” and then they point at someone and say BANG! and pretend to shoot them.  The two people around the person who got shot throw their hands up in shock.  I’m probably not explaining this very well because I barely even figured it out myself.  All I know is that if anyone messes up, they take a drink.  There was a lot of messing up.
        Anyway, after we finished up at benches, some of the TaLK people who’d already been here for a term led us over to an indoor bar.  The bar is farther downtown and also farther away from our campus.  I didn’t check the time, but I figured we were OK, and if not…I was with twenty-five other people.  They can’t get us all in trouble, right?
        The next bar was all TaLK people again, but I still had a really good time hanging out and getting to know everyone better.  We ate, we drank…and then somebody suggested we go to another bar.  Well, I’m not one to decline, so we started heading deeper into the city.  And the whole time we walked along, we were going down this winding hill.  Finally, we get to a western bar called “Touch.”   I’m not really sure what was western about it, other than the fact that they had crappy light beer.  I had a lot of fun, though, and this bar actually had a decent amount of Koreans, so it felt a little more authentic.
        Just as I was thinking about going up and talking to some of them, a person in my group said, “Hey, it’s 10:30.”  Oh shit.  We were probably a twenty-five or thirty minute walk away from the dorms.  I threw down some cash and started to book it out of there.  I got a couple hundred feet away…and then I realized that I’d forgotten my backpack at the bar.  I turned around, but all the shops looked the same and I had no idea where I was.  I started wandering in circles while everyone else headed back for the dorms.  I’m thinking I’m screwed…and then some random chick came out of a side door with my backpack in hand.  Whoever you are, thank you and god bless.  Anyway, now that I had my bag I felt a little better, but I still had to get back to campus in twenty-five minutes.  And since it had been all downhill on the way there, that meant it was all uphill on the way back.  Christ.  If I went at a normal pace, there was no way I could make it back in time.  That meant there was only one thing to do: run.  Let me tell you, running uphill with a twenty pound backpack is kind of a pain.  I didn’t have my cell phone, so I really had no idea how close I was cutting it, but I figured I’d need every second I could get.  By the time I made it back to the dorms, I was covered in sweat.  The clock read 10:55.  He's safe!  He's safe!!  And the crowd goes wild.
        In the end, we were allowed to hang out for another hour in the lounge downstairs, and then we were all herded off to bed.  That just about wrapped up an exhausting, fun day.  The best part is, I’m still demerit-free.
        At least for now.        

Mamma Mia! A Day in Seoul

People in Korea love me.  The first person I talked to (at the money exchange in the airport) giggled and said, “You are very handsome.”  It was a sixty-year-old man, but still.
I got in late Monday and went straight to orientationville, which is at Korea University.  The campus is pretty large and industrial looking, and it’s set on a hill, so walking’s not exactly a breeze.  There are about 300 other people in the program, and they all seem really friendly and cool.  Monday night, I basically just crashed because bright and early the next morning we were headed for Seoul.
The program headquarters are in Seoul, so this was sort of our opening ceremonies.  We took a 2 hour bus ride, and by the time we got there, it was already about ninety five degrees and humid.  Everyone keeps saying it’s the hottest Korean summer ever.  I don’t mind the heat much, at least when it’s only outside.  Problem is, even when we went into the headquarters building, it didn’t get any cooler.  My shirt was damp.  I felt the sweat soaking through both my boxers and my shorts, which is kinda disgusting.  Some chick said, “The Korean idea of air conditioning isn’t really working for me.”  I'd have to agree.
So we’re all sitting in this steaming hot auditorium, and then these flashing multicolored strobe lights start going off.  I’m going to call these “epilepsy lights.”  After that, they get the shitty techno music pumping.  A Korean lady grabs the microphone and tells us that the show’s about to start.  I’m just hoping that it will put an end to the lights/music torture combo.  And it did put an end to the combo- the music turned off.  As for the lights?  Those would keep going strong for the rest of the presentation, which was about an hour.
First, they bring out this wannabe United Nations kids show choir.  These twelve kids are from like ten countries and they’re all dressed up in their Halloween costumes…I mean, “traditional garb.”  A few of them looked so uncomfortable that I couldn’t help feeling bad for them.  And then they broke out into a twenty minute ABBA medley.  That’s Korea for you.

Dancing queens

Next up was a harvest dance.  As an added bonus to the epilepsy lights, they bring out these guys drumming on pots and pans.  There was not a rhythm to it.  I’m pretty sure this was just another part of the master plan to induce seizures.  Some middle eastern sounding trumpet thing got going in the background, and then the dancing started.  One dude had a long ribbon attached to his head, and he twirled that all around.  Second dude comes out with a freaking feather-duster on his head and joins in the fun.

"This floor will be dirty NO MORE!"

After that scene ended, they brought out a taekwondo team.  They started off with the standard group karate type stuff, but then they shifted into something like a break dance fighting routine.  There were two gangs and one dude from each group would come up and do a triple back flip and be like WHAT??!!  and then the other group would fight back through the power of dance.  It was part Jackie Chan, part West Side Story finger snapping showdown.
Finally, we got out of there and went into Seoul for a couple hours.  It’s a massive city, and we were only in a small part of it.  Seoul is a weird place- there are these beautiful ancient palaces, and then in the background you’ll see a skyscraper with website advertising on it.  There’s a giant stream with all kinds of forestry right in between crazy, bustling intersections.  Basically, it seems like this place has a split identity- one half is this peaceful natural setting, while the other half is a wildly busy metropolis.

We saw as much as could in the couple hours we had, and then we stopped at a Ramen/Udon shop for dinner.  I got a giant bowl of Udon soup with fish and calamari for less than four bucks.  It was pretty great.

Sadly, we had to leave Seoul to get back to campus before curfew (Yeah, there’s an eleven o’clock curfew.  It sucks).  Anyway, I just went back to my dorm passed out from exhaustion.  But I know I’ll be back to Seoul soon.  There’s so much more to see.

The Journey Before the Journey

        “You never plan anything, but it always works out for you at the last minute.  This time, it’s all gonna go to hell.” –Isaac, my 18-year-old brother.

  Charming kid, right?  Anyway, maybe he’s got a point.  Sometimes, I take things down to the wire, and sure, sometimes I get a little lucky.  Take this trip, for instance.  I can’t even count how many times I was told it would be impossible to go.  My first application was flat-out rejected.  Then I was wait-listed.  And even after I was accepted (about ten days ago), I was told the visa couldn’t be done in time.  Well, I got my visa and my plane ticket three days before the flight, and now I’m on a plane to Korea.  Here’s how the impossible happened.
First obstacle: criminal background check.  I knew it was gonna be hard to convince them that the charges were bogus and that I’d been set up.  But seriously, I had to round up like 1000 documents and ship them to every corner of the US.  I had to wait for documents to come back so I could then send them off again to get apostilled in Washington.  Only then could I send them to the Korean Consulate in Chicago.  Sound complicated?  It was.  Adding up all the mailing and processing times, it should’ve taken about 2  months.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have two months.  I had six weeks.
So I went to the police station and asked to have my prints taken.  They sent out a pretty tough looking 50-year-old dude who had a briefcase in one hand.  I gave him the fingerprint page I’d printed off.  He looked at the page like it was a dog turd.
“What?  You printed it out on this?  You ever heard of cardstock?  This is terrible.”
“Umm…I can go print it out on something else, I guess.”
“No, we’ll just use this,” he said.  “It’ll probably get ruined, but what do I care?”
Then he unlatched the briefcase and pulled out his ink kit.
“Get behind me.”
“Umm…” I took half a step forward.  This guy wasn’t really in the mood to waste time, though.  He just grabbed my arm and pulled me in.  At this point, I’m almost rubbing up against him and naturally, I’m feeling pretty uncomfortable.  I tried to keep my arm forward and the rest of me back, but he was set on pulling me closer.  Finally, he dipped one of my fingers in the ink and made a print, but clearly I was doing something wrong.
“Loosen up your wrist for god sakes.  You never done this before?”
(I kinda wish somebody with no idea what was going on had walked in right at that moment.  IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE, I SWEAR)
Anyway, I tried my best to make my wrist go limp, but there are bones and muscles and shit in there, so it didn’t quite work.
“Christ,” he said.
After I finished the day at the police station, I started the mailing game.  I overnighted the shit out of those packages.  I made friends at the post office, UPS store, and Fedex.  Honestly, all the waiting and not knowing was the worst part of the whole thing. But in the end, I miraculously got the documents in two days before the deadline.  Yikes.
The very minor second hurdle:  getting rejected.  Yeah, can you believe it?  After all the hard work I put in with the police officer, it turned out that another portion of my app (the mock lesson plan I’d made) wasn’t up to snuff.  In early July, I got an email that basically said “We’re not even going to review your app because the lesson plan sucks so much.”  Fortunately, they let me redo it.  Unfortunately, by that time they’d already given out all their initial acceptances.  Enter the waiting list.
I was pretty bummed, and as it got later into July I figured there was no chance.  Then, in a stroke of luck, I met up one day with a good friend of mine for dinner.  She’d recently been on a waiting list of her own, and she’d gotten accepted off of it.
“Just be like a stalker ex-girlfriend,” she told me.  “Call them, email them, show them you really want it.”
I’m not sure I made a very convincing stalker, but what the hell, I figured I could at least send them an email letting them know this would mean a lot to me.  I don’t know if the email had anything to do with it, but I week later I got accepted.  One problem: the program started in a week and I didn’t have a visa.
So I called up the Chicago consulate and asked them if they could get it done in time.  Answer: no chance in hell.  It’d take at least a week.  I asked if I could arrive late to the program then, and they said they’d call up the director in Korea and see.  Fast forward to late on a Sunday night, and I get a call from Korea.
“Hi,” said some woman.  “Send in your visa application.  You’re going to Korea.  We will take care of it.”
Korea comes through in the clutch!  I imagine their conversation with Chicago went something like, “Sure, we rejected the kid, and yeah, maybe we waitlisted him, BUT WE NEED HIM RIGHT NOW, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?  WE NEED HIM ON THAT LINE!”
Since everything was super time sensitive, on Monday I ended up sprinting a couple miles to Walgreens to get passport photos for my visa app (no car, of course.)  I had my wallet in one hand and a folder with visa documents in the other. Then it started raining.  I remember laughing and thinking, “My life is completely insane.”  They’ll probably make a movie about it someday.

It was exactly like this, except without the muscles and the Jesus

I got my visa three days later.  Now, I’m only a couple hours away from Seoul.  I realize that I had a ridiculous string of good luck, but it also wouldn’t have been possible without help from family and friends (Awwwww!)  Seriously, they gave me advice, drove me around, and were always kind and helpful.  Pretty lucky if you ask me.  

Is It Dusty In Here?

        As a recent college graduate, I’m bursting with so many new thoughts and ideas.  Anyway, I figured this would be the perfect place to share all the wisdom I’ve gained, relate valuable lessons I’ve learned, and chronicle every second of my mundane 9-5 life in an office.

  Nah, just kidding.  I’m going to Korea.

I’ll be spending the next six months there teaching English to elementary schoolers.  Just like my last trip out of the country, I’ll be writing about it here. (I studied abroad in Prague.  Read all about it below.)  Now, you may be wondering:  Why wouldn’t I start up a special new blog for my special new adventures?  Well, there’s a very simple answer: I’m lazy.
  Long story short, I’m leaving in two days.  I haven’t really packed anything, so I should probably go start on that.  I promise at least one update a week, as long as I have internet access.  Here we go again.