Hi my name's Mean

I sent a six year old into the hallway for breaking one of my crayons after I told her not to last week. She started bawling right away and I just left her there for the korean teachers to deal with. She probably didn't thoroughly understand why she was in trouble so I took the crayon pieces in my hand and showed them to her and made a big 'x' with my arms (the korean hand signal for NO). She cried for a good long time before she was able to come back into the classroom. If you take the 'g' out of my name, I'm just Mean.

Stills of my Leap of Faith

There's a big fat piece of padding at the end of the chord closest to your feet. The guy dropped that part over the edge of the crane while I was still standing on it. The little bit of pull on my legs as it was dropped over nearly made me pass out.

My eyes miiiiiiight be closed here.

Ripping a gut-wrenching scream.

Beginning to think that I might survive.

Maybe this is fun, maybe.

Strrrrretch.

Woo hoo!

You can tell that you obviously get snapped back up a lot faster than you fall down if I'm already back up this high after the last picture.

Nope this isn't fun. Definitely not fun. I should have stayed at the bottom.

Cue another gut-wrenching scream.

Shaken, Not Stirred

I went bungee jumping today. It was by far the most harrowing experience I have ever willingly submitted myself to and I'm not sure if I will be able to muster the balls to repeat it. It was however an incredible experience that I won't soon forget.

I'm not sure what it is about the human race that drives us to seek out new and more radical means to scare the shit out of ourselves, but we are really successful at it. In case you yourselves haven't been bungee jumping, I am here to offer to a play by play of my encounter.

Before I would be willing to do the jump I had a number of criteria that needed to be fulfilled. Firstly, I had to see a seasoned veteran go to assure me that there was something fun about this whole escapade. Secondly I had to witness a beginner who was just as scared as I was go before me, this way I would be reassured that I wouldn't have a stroke or a heartattack on the way down. Lastly I had to watch someone bigger than me survive the jump so that I could be confident that the rope would hold me. Having satisfied all of these conditions I started preparing myself by slinking my way to the back of the crowd so as to go with the third and last group of the thirty people doing the jump.

Jennifer and I started discussing how we were going to do this. You see, everyone had a choice to be attached either by the back via a body harness or by the ankles. After some discussion, and some assurance that we wouldn't end up getting dipped in the subarctic river water, we came to the conclusion that being attached by our feet and diving headfirst was the ONLY way to go. If we were going to go through with this bungee experience we were sure as hell going to do it right.

After lots of chattering, due to nerves and the cold, it was finally our turn to get strapped up and make the ascent to the top of the crane. The crane is fifty meters high and sticks out of the North Han river. You get to the top via a creaky lift box that could entice anyone to chicken out, but we were assured that once you reached the top there would be NO REFUNDS.

When it was my turn I walked trepidatiously (to say the least), towards the end of the crane to be hooked up. We were all told not to look down and to keep our eyes on the horizon. I don't exactly know why people tell you that because it's not like your mind and body aren't completely aware of how high you are. Regardless of this logic I took the advice anyway. As I was standing on the brink of stupidity, I tried feverishly to blink the tears from my eyes so that I could face my death with a clear view. It should be mentioned that the tears were from the wind and the cold and not from fear, but at that point it wouldn't have really mattered. Anyway, I was given a countdown of 5-4-3-2-1 BUNGEE and away I went. I dove out just as I would dive off of the short board at the swimming pool but with a very different end result. At first I was headed straight towards the horizon that I had been looking at but the scenery quickly changed. As soon as I changed directions and started plummeting towards the earth I instantly realized what a mistake I made and let it be known. I let loose a scream so real and full of fear that it shocked even me. I mean, I'm a big screamer. I insist on screaming at spiders and on rollercoasters because I think it adds to the drama of the experience, but I had no choice in the matter on this scream. It was a scream that came from deep in my belly and was laced with pure, near tangible fright. When I reached the bottom of my rope, so to speak, I started my assent back up towards my departure point and released a raucous "woo-hoo", because at that point it just started being fun. That was until I had to go back down and unwittingly released another terror-stricken scream. After the second one I managed to calm down a bit and was able to actually appreciate the coolness of the fact that I was bobbing around like a lure on the end of a fishing line.

The whole thing was over with a quickness and when I got to the bottom I danced around with the gusto and energy of someone who just won a 100 meter relay race. Bungee jumping was unbelievably exciting, frightening and stupid all at the same time. I've never been the kind of person who needs to seek out new thrills in order to feel human or whatever and I've never really thought about going bungee jumping before, but I'm glad I did because now...I can brag about it.

Pictures to follow

Bonus: Cheap and Efficient Health Care

I went to my doctor today to get a refill on some asthma medication and I was truly in awe after the whole experience. While I've been to the doctor a number of times during my stay here I have not yet taken the time to reflect on how truly wonderful the healthcare system in this country has been for me.

I got out of work today at 3:45. As soon as I got out I walked to my doctor's office, had a short conversation with him, asked him to give me a prescription, went upstairs to get the prescription filled, paid and was on the bus home by no later than 4:15. In about half an hour I did what would have taken three times as long in the States and I would have had to make an appointment days or weeks in advance. I didn't have an appointment and I was the only person in his office when I got there. I went to plop down in the sitting room to wait and read until it was my turn, but just as I was bending to take my seat I was gestured into his office. Not only did I get in right away but the nurses didn't bother wasting my time by taking my blood pressure, pulse, temperature and (gulp) weight beforehand.

The doctor asked a few basic questions about my current health and whether or not the sandstorms have been affecting my condition, which they haven't been, he listened to my lungs and then I was out of there. I paid the receptionist roughly $3 for the whole ordeal, they handed me my prescription and I was on my way. The whole thing took ten minutes max. The only waiting that I did the whole time was at the pharmacy when an elderly woman was pestering the pharmacist about the benefits of some vitamin drink or something. I paid about $30 for two months worth of the prescription and was on my way before I even had time to crack the spine of my book.

It's such a pleasure to be witness to such an effecient and effective healthcare system that seems to operate entirely on behalf of the patient. I'm going to miss this.

I'm Ashamed to Admit it...

But I have dealt with the Devil.

I caught wind of a rumor that for the first time in at least seven months, the Wal-mart in my town started stocking cheddar cheese.

One cold and desperate evening last week I walked through the gateway of hell and there I saw the Devil himself. The yellow smiling circle that winks because he knows the truth behind Wal-mart's success as a company and success in near-total world domination.

In a trance-like state I walked past the greeter in her blue vest, through the neon illuminated aisles, down the moving sidewalk and to the dairy section. There I found it, shining in its shrink wrap like the purest gold. The half-moon of cheddar cheese that lay on that shelf sang to me in a language that touched the innermost cavity of my heart. As I stood there motionless in its aura, the few remaining tastebuds that have not been singed off by Korean cuisine began to weep at the hope of salvation.

I walked towards the cash register with the arm holding my prize outstretched. I dropped entirely too much money on the conveyer belt as I brushed past without even slowing down. I sat on the bus caressing every beautiful inch, completely unawares of the judging and sickened stares that befell me.

When we finally got home I tore into it with such lust that nothing and no one could have stopped me. I devoured and then I savored. I chewed and then I let melt. I loved it so wholly and entirely and when I was at last sated I stopped. A little less than half of the cheese remained, but I was feeling stronger and more alive than ever.

That was until my evil deed caught up with me. My body has almost totally lacked dairy for more than seven months and it was none too receptive to the richness and pureness of my purchase and it fought back, hard. As I sat on the toilet for much of that evening I wept. I wept for all of the unconsumed cheeses of the world. I wept for the loss of my intestinal stamina and fortitude. I wept for my desperation. I wept for my old life. I wept for a land where cheese is as common there as seaweed is here. I wept for my hatred of Wal-mart and I wept for my sin.

I dealt with the devil and I suffered far worse than the loss of my soul.

My Shoebox

At long last I have uploaded pics of my pad for all to enjoy. Feel free to be jealous as I expect nothing less. Welcome to my pad, don't forget to take off your shoes and please, mind the mess.

This first picture is of the "Grand Room". On the far wall is the entrance to the laundry/make-up room and the door to my look-in closet. In between the two doors are the broken mirror pieces that I glued to the wall. If you will recall these are the shards of glass that were responsible for removing a dime-sized piece of flesh from the palm of my hand. As an update to that blog I will have you know that the wondrous healing power of my body has filled in the hole with brand new skin. The only problem is that the skin is just a tad bit too taut so when I flex my hand back all the way I get a little squigey in my belly when it stops giving.

This picture is of the main foyer, the kitchen, the office and the library (above the stove). You'll notice that the two burner stove really allows me to explore my culinary genius.

Please take a moment to regard the state of the art airconditioning unit located beside the t.v. It really is ridiculous to live in such luxury.





This is a more close-up view of the laundry/make-up room. This room is not heated and lacks double paning on the windows so you can imagine how "refreshing" it is early in the morning when getting ready for work. My self-made vanity on the floor is constructed of a spare shelf from my cupboard and two barbells. A feat of true ingenuity.












This is a shot of the main foyer and the mud room. I got the manican on the right out of the garbage, carved a square through the stomach, drizzled a broken can of spraypaint over it, impaled it with a mop and adorned it with a wig. It was originally supposed to serve as a coat rack but I much prefer just throwing my coat on the floor or on a nearby chair instead. Although this isn't exactly a preference but rather a necessity.

You see, I have inherited my mom's "getting home from work, opening the door dance". I have read somewhere that teacher's are some of the most likely people to get urinary tract infections because they don't have enough time to use the toilet throughout the day. Although I haven't yet gotten any infection I do realize just at the very second that I start looking for my house key just how much I have to go to the bathroom. So, everyday I do a little dance while I open the door. When I get it open I launch all of my belongings into the main room as I kick off my shoes and pause for a moment to ensure that I don't lose control. Finally, and always at the very LAST second, I make it to the toilet.


That being said this is a view of the bathroom. The shower and the sink are one glorious, space-saving contraption that no matter what time of day I try taking a shower never produce water hot enough to be comfortable.













This picture was taken from my desk looking at the stunted refrigerator capped with some box that I put my clothes in. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, these doors as well as the one attached to my closet are never closed.

On the wall next to the refrigerator is the phone that leads to the call box on the other side of my main door. This seems all a bit excessive to me seeing as I could easily have a conversation with someone standing outside of my apartment from the chair in my laundry room clear on the other side of my apartment. Another oddity is that this call box is also the speaker for my doorbell. Now, as I know it doorbells are only necessary for people living in houses so large that they might not hear a knock on the front door. I'm pretty sure that if you were to put one end of a shoebox to your ear and tap lightly on the other end you would hear it quite clearly. The same goes for this shoebox that I call home. The super fun part about my doorbell however, is that it plays....get this......wait for it..... "Yankee Doodle Dandy".

New Hobbies

In order to fill my down time after work I have picked up a few hobbies along the way. First off I've started reading more. Although it's always been a hobby of mine it was always put on the back burner until the summer months when I was bored enough to pick up book after book. Well thanks to joys of public transportation and midday breaks between classes, I have plenty of time to read. I just finished "Bringing Out the Dead" by Joe Connelly, which sucked. I am just starting "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire, which I have heard good things about.

In addition to the reading I have picked up the guitar. I've always wanted to learn how to play but never had the resources, ie. a guitar or a teacher, to do so. Well I inherited a guitar from a friend in a band. It's a crappy beginner's acoustic made in Korea but it does the trick and hell, it was FREE! My teacher is a very good friend of mine, Rex. He's Jennifer's boyfriend, which makes the long trips he makes out here to give me a lesson worth while for all parties involved. He's a good teacher and so far he's managed to teach me Greenday's "When I Come Around", "My Girl" by Nirvana, "Glycerine" by Bush and "Angry Chair" by Alice in Chains, (which I've never heard before but can play nonetheless). I really enjoy playing the C and G chords because they sound like real songs. I would really like to start writing my songs but I'm having a very chicken before the egg experience with it. I'm not sure if one writes lyrics first and then plays around with various chords that sound appropriate or if one plays some chords that sound good and then write lyrics to fit the rhythm and sound of the guitar.

Anyway he's promised to teach me how to play John Lennon's "Imagine" before he leaves in May and I've promised myself that I will buy a new, better guitar before I leave. The criteria for me buying my own guitar though is that I am able to strum a few chords, maybe play a few songs on any potential purchase while still in the store so that it appears as though I know what I'm doing. Hopefully one of my next few blogs will be about my sweet new guitar.

I have plans of leaving the old guitar in my apartment for my replacement so that they too might be inspired to learn something while they're here. I would leave the books too but they, unlike the guitar, were not free and I've spent too much money to just willingly leave them behind. I will probably ship them home, and by home I mean to your house Heath, since I don't in fact have a home.