2013 March 4

The Korean Left Turn

I drive a pretty bitchin’ scooter. Kimmy wanted to get one because she hated her upward hike to work. Then scooting became a way of life. We drive to school, to parks and temples, and have even once taken it to a nearby city, though I’m not sure that’s something we’ll be doing again. There’s a stereotypical joke in America that Asians are bad drivers and now that I’ve driven in Korea, I can, at least a little, understand where this is coming from.

Korea’s driving laws are more like suggestions. Stop lights are only stop lights if other cars are around. No U-turn? There is now! And speed limits are like the serving size on potato chips — nobody notices and nobody cares. Their driving etiquette also takes some getting used to. Left turns are uncommon at many intersections because they’re considered dangerous. If you need to turn left on large city streets you must drive past your turn to a designated U-turn area, pull around, and turn right once you get back to the intersection.

Of course, Busan has tons of back streets and alleys, which, as far as I can tell, are not governed by the laws of man. People walk in the roads while scooters fly past. Old men and women pull full carts through the alleys. Children walk haphazardly on their way to school. And no matter what, there’s going to be a foul smelling something somewhere. I try not to ever breathe through my mouth (because the only thing worse than smelling a fartish fermented fishy kimchi aroma, is tasting it).

Driving in alleys and back roads leads me right back to the left turn phenomenon. Koreas have trouble making them. In the alleys, where there is no center line, cars drive through the middle of the road. This means, when it comes time to take a left turn, it looks something like this:

This has taken some getting used to. The cars just sort of slow way down and go around each other as best the can. The car making the left turn will cut off people in the adjacent lane, but that’s how they play. (And don’t hate the player, hate the game.) Alley driving is tricky, but the good thing about driving a scooter is that I can buzz around most of this nonsense. Also, I get the impression that scooters are entirely exempt from road rules, since they often drive on the sidewalk, through crosswalks, and around traffic like they’re Simba in a herd of wildebeests.

On the back streets with a center line it looks like this. With an American (read: correct) left turn provided for comparison.

I had them coming from the right because, on my scooter, this is often when the problems happen.

I’m sorry for the shitty renderings of streets and turns. I’m not an artist and instead of using my iPad art app like I just realized I could have done, I instead chose to make it on my laptop. Deal with it.

These drivers in Korea are fine. I live in a city of more than 3.5 million people, and I’ve seen nothing more than a few minor fender benders. But take them out of what they know and drop them into America, and yeah problems are gonna happen. American roads have more rules than the internet. And the last I checked, the internet had 47 of them. Of course people from other cultures aren’t going to drive as well as you and me. We learn through observation and use what we know from where we learned it. In my case, I’ve had to adapt my American driving etiquette to Korean, and I’ve loved every minute of it. But now, with Kimmy’s and my impending return, I’m really worried that I too, will be a bad Asian driver.

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While you’re at it, check out my post on Magnificent Nose about what we can learn from Indie music about self-publishing.

2013 February 27

Got My Hair Did

Because my life’s motto is, “I’ll do it tomorrow,” I’ve waited about 2 months too long to get my hair did. And the Korean haircut experience is actually pretty enjoyable.

There are two people that help with your hair. One is the stylist and the other is the assistant. First, they take your coat and bag and anything else you might have (shopping bags, scooter helmet, etc.) and hang it all up in a personal closet just for you. Then the assistant brings you to the shampoo room and gives you a scalp massage (and even a neck massage on occasion) while she cleans your hair.

Next, the assistant escorts you to the stylist, who gets right down to cutting. Since they don’t speak English, there is a lot of miming and broken Korean and English while trying to explain the look you’re going for. My iPad has pictures of how I want my hair to look, so I usually show that to them while they’re taking my belongings.

Anyway, the stylist does her thing and it’s the quietest haircut you’ll ever get. There’s not a lot of conversation when neither of you speak the same language. Meanwhile, the assistant stands next to the stylist and hands her anything she might need. The assistant also carries a perfumed dry sponge that she uses to brush the hair off your face. They’re so gentle it feels like fairy kisses. When the stylist finishes she asks me if I like it (I know that much Korean) and I usually do.

Then the assistant takes me back for a second shampoo/scalp & neck massage. I effing love it. It feels really good and the girl that I had today was a damn pro. I told her she was the best washer. She covered her mouth and giggled. Yeah I’m smooth like that.

Then, the stylist and assistant double teamed my hair with blow dryers and once my hair was dry as a freshly laundered towel, the stylist went to work. She twisted and primped and adjusted for damn near five minutes. When she had my hair just the way she wanted, she sprayed on so much hairspray that a semi-sticky shell formed over my skull, and I no longer needed my scooter helmet.

And here’s the best part: No tip. That’s right. No tip necessary. I asked my coworkers if I should give one and they said absolutely not. It’s pretty awesome. And in case your wondering how much a cut like this costs, it put me back just 20 bucks.

2013 February 26

Steven & Kimmy’s Weekend Trip to Seoul

Not the view from a bullet train. Just the Seoul city streets.

On Friday Kimmy and I took a bullet train to Seoul. For about 50 bucks a person, we got to zoom through the mountains, towns, and countryside of Korea, arriving at our destination in about two and a half hours. After checking in to our hotel, we went to Insadong, which is a shopping area brimming with Korean trinkets, candy, and traditional items. The streets were full of Koreans and tourists alike. Shop workers stood outside calling out to passersby — and sometimes in English.

Hey! Have you seen this!

A man with bleached tips and black roots yelled to us. He worked as a traditional candy maker. We had seen it before — workers stretch fast-cooling sugar, making a sort of thready cotton candy, only it’s crunchy. I haven’t a picture nor do I recall it’s name, but while it’s fun to watch them make, they’re not all that fun to eat. They taste grainy and sort of meaty, like a vegetarian sugared nut patty. We’d been here before, so we passed by. Besides, we were on a mission to buy this:

A stamp, carved out of stone with a fancy coral colored case. In case you’re wondering, Kimmy’s last name is Hope, so it seemed appropriate. Also, I purchased one for myself (with my name written in Korean) last year and I think my wife was jealous.

After shopping in the icy cold, we warmed up with some Starbucks. Korea has given me acid reflux during my nearly 3 year tenure and I’m currently on medication. So, instead of my normal latte, I had to settle for a soy chai latte, which I like, but it certainly didn’t do much to ease the caffeine headache that had set up camp in the back of my skull.

Click for a full-size image. In the pic with Kimmy, you can see the graffiti tea café in the background.

We wandered around some more and found a tea shop that Kimmy had visited before. She said it was really adorable, so we decided to go inside and get some more beverages. One can never be too hydrated, after all. The shop had a cute little Korean statue outside the was the perfect photo op. Once inside, it was like being in a tree house for dolls. A trell house, if you will. There were little hand written notes attached with twist ties to things you’d have never thought possible. This was a graffiti café and Kimmy embraced that spirit by writing that it was our fifth wedding anniversary on a support beam. It was stupid-fun.

With full bladders and full hearts (#chaztweets) we went to On the Border. Do you have any idea how good it is to eat American style Mexican food after having to to eat Korean style Mexican food for years on end? It’s like a Quinceañera in my mouth. It’s like a Cinco de Mayo in my belly. It’s like Dia de los Muertos from the food coma that ensued from the copious amounts of guacamole and enchiladas I ate.

Finally it was time for what we came to Seoul for in the first place: the Stars concert. The information Kimmy received said they’d start at 10:30, but when we arrived at 9:40, they were already on stage in the middle of a song. Thankful we’d not missed their entire show, we found an open spot and enjoyed the remaining hour and ten minutes. It was terrific. This band was more grateful for its fans than any other band I’d seen, and, as always, their music evoked feelings of nostalgia and longing. These guys (and girl) rocked it.

Funny Story: I accidentally deleted all the pictures Kimmy took because I’m an impatient moron. This was the only one left. She took it with her phone. Those alien-looking blurs are the band.

And that was just day one. On Saturday we went to a tattoo shop, but, as often seems the case with tattoo shops, they didn’t have their shit together and hadn’t read the emails Kimmy had sent months in advance explaining what she wanted (with pictures) and that we’d set aside that whole day to get her work done. But, they didn’t read any of those emails (and yes, they were fluent in English) and didn’t even know what she was in the shop for, it seemed. Needless to say, no tattoo happened and Kimmy was disappointed, but we got to have Jamba Juice afterward, so I think that helped.

And then: Greek-ageddon. We ate Greek food in Itaewon and I loved it more than On the Border. I had two, count ‘em, two small tubs of tzatziki with my chicken and pork gyros, oregano potatoes, and garlic-mint hummus. We even had baklava and it made my night. Also, my wife was looking pretty hot (as is often the case), so that helped. We went back to the hotel to relax and I got to experiment with the bidet, which was like angel kisses on my rectum. I recommend it.

Finally, on Sunday, we ate at Subway (which is like a pretty big deal) and then took another bullet train back to Busan. After we arrived, Kimmy got to fulfill a dream by taking this picture:

She laughed at this for a solid minute. I mean, look at how small her head is compared to that statue’s! Kimmy’s is like a caper! And that was the end of our weekend. If only we had some family members (or friends from America) to come visit so that we could enjoy it with them…

2013 February 25

#chaztweets

Look at this handsome sumbitch:

This is my hetero-life-partner, Chaz. I’ve known him since my first senior year in college (though we met before that). One of my first sentences to him was, “Do you like to talk about UFOs?”

“Sure,” he said. But I think he didn’t mean it. He was probably intimidated by how not-nerdy I was. Like totally.

Chaz is known for losing things — like his dorm keys, for example. He used to have to sneak into his dorm after the doors locked through a janitor’s closet that he’d found had an unlocked window to the outside. He used to go to Hy-Vee and sit in the cafeteria until people left, then he’d scavenge for leftovers from their plates. Disgusting? You’re damn right it is, but that is the essence of Chaz.

Another eau de Chaz, is his desire for poetics. I like to browse his old Xanga blog anytime I’m feeling whimsical. Instead of saying, “I’m jealous,” Chaz says, “A bit of jealousy stirs within me.” The man has the uncanny ability to look at just about any situation and see the beauty in it. He can make tears into rainbows and mundane meetings into action thrillers. I wish I could see life through the eyes of Chaz, but though I’ve tried, there’s too much cynicism and realism (some call it “pessimism, but I disagree) within me.

Here we are at the end of a three hour hike from hell. As you can see, I’m miserable. Chaz, on the other hand, had never loved life more than in that moment. Perhaps he finds great pleasure in my pain.

Since Chaz and no one else has used Xanga since 2009, I’ve had to wait for those rare times he posts a tweet or, on even rarer occasion, when he reads to me something he’s written. But since I pretty much live my life on the internet, I’ve decided to try to capture the spirit of Chaz by tweeting the occasional Chazish tweet using: “#chaztweets”. No one is going to find this in any way amusing, funny, or enjoyable at all except for me, but that’s fine. If I can’t enjoy myself, then who will? Amirite?

So, Chaz, you’ve inspired me. I hope I honor your essence. So, with a full heart and a mind focusing on the prize of life, I spin and twirl, dancing in the waltz of life. #chaztweets

2013 February 14

If you’re not impressed by this, then I’m not impressed by you

I don’t post a lot of images, but these two are pretty cool, and I thought I’d share them. The first is a close up on the gills of a Texas Blind Salamander.

You can see the blood cells flowing through it! Damn, that’s cool!

Not impressed? Well, you better take some Immodium because you’re about to shit yourself:

That green stuff is dyed water, surrounded by a square of hydrophobic coating. The water is held at bay by a thin sheet of this nanotechnological coating. I just…wow.

2013 January 27

5 More Months…5 More Months…

My first few months in Korea I discovered that mosquitoes don’t die. Sure, you can smash ‘em, but it can be below freezing outside and the next thing you know a skeeter will float past your face while your sitting in your bedroom trying to read the latest Deadpool comic. Oh and don’t forget the time I had something like 42 bites covering my left shoulder, arm, and general back area after sleeping with the window open mid September. Because apparently screens on windows is too hard a concept to figure out.

What follows is short list of all the bullshit at just our apartment:

Mosquito-geddon.
Dirty ass wallpaper (that was replaced shortly after moving in, but not after the installers got their gluey fingerprints on our tables, chairs, and fridge, and broke our sugar container).
A moldy ceiling in our bathroom. (which was also replaced a year later, but also not after we had to clean up after the installer).
Mildew so thick in our bathtub that it took us a year and a multitude of techniques to get it off. What finally worked? Soaking the tub in vinegar & water and scrubbing with a “magic sponge” from Japan.
Our bathroom door had begun rotting at the bottom and was falling apart.
A faulty circuit breaker that made us think we were experiencing blackouts (also replaced, but not after haggling with my school and landlord, and having to prove via demonstration I’m not a liar and that there was, in fact, a problem).
Our pipes freezing and not being able to shower for about a week (which you can read about here). (Oh and one more thing, when the temp drops below freezing, we have to run our faucet water all night just to make sure they don’t freeze again. Because insulation isn’t a thing here.)
We can’t control our heat and the first couple months of winter during our first year here it wasn’t turned on and we had no heat in our apartment.
No hot water during July for no discernible reason whatsoever. Serious, the only reason I’ve been given is that “some places do that in Korea.” Guess what, that’s not a reason.

And now, in the last 5 months of us leaving we have one more pain in the ass to deal with and, to be honest, I’ll not be surprised at all if there’s one more thing after this to take care of before leaving on a jet plane. Anyway, a few days ago, we noticed our ceiling dripping water, but thought it was perhaps because our bathroom doesn’t have ventilation (oh yeah, another problem) and showering painted the walls, ceiling, and mirror in condensation. Perhaps, we conjectured, the drips were coming from leftover moisture.

Water pipes are directly above our ceiling. We assume them to be our neighbors, but in Korea, you can’t expect things to happen according to the rules of reason. We’ve got a hatch that we can open and poke our heads up there, but the pipes block the access and we can’t see anything. Instead, we took some pictures. Here’s one where you can just barely make out the water and soaked wooden support beam.

Click for maximum resolution!

I think Korea is sentient and it’s trying to make me want to leave. It’s like it knows our relationship is just about over and it’s trying to make it so I don’t miss it after we’ve broken up. And I’d just everyone to know that I didn’t take pictures for my blog. Oh no. You see, my coworkers never seem to grasp the gravity of a problem unless they see it with their eyes. Remember all those problems listed above? I didn’t just request they were fixed and boom! that was it. I had to “invite” my coteachers over, prepare for them tea and snacks, give them a “tour.” (Our apartment is three rooms and a bathroom. I’m sitting in the kitchen and can literally see the the whole thing. Shit, you can see the whole thing from the door.) So after the tea and snacks, I showed my coworkers the shoddiness of our living conditions and after that they agreed to fix it. So these pics serve as my evidence. And one more piece of evidence? A video of the drips with very dramatic background music.

Yeah, I’m ready to go home.

2013 January 23

Letter to the Editor

Last week you wrote an opinion based on facts that I don’t believe because it made me feel bad and didn’t fit within my paradigm. I have a number of fallacious, subjective arguments as to why I’m correct, and I want everyone to abide by my moral and ethical code, except when I don’t. I’m writing this letter to inform you that I have an opinion, just like everyone, but mine matters because it’s mine. Also, I felt really good while writing this letter because it gave me the sense that I matter more than I do. But I do matter because I believe that I do. It’s ludicrous to base your actions on facts, evidence, and sound reasoning when emotions can tell you all you need to believe in the time it takes to inhale and exhale the same breath. I expect you and everyone else to act like my opinion matters by talking about it.

-John S., New York City