The weekdays have started to meld together a little bit. It's a little unfortunate but working the night shift has put me in a bit of a funk. The awkward hours have kinda put my schedule into a nocturnal repetition of being awake while no one else is and being at work when no one else is. It's not a big deal though. A British guy got here yesterday and he's going to be taking over next week. I haven't met him yet but I look forward to it. He is the only teacher here that isn't from the United States or Canada, so it's good for mixing it up.

My night schedule of classes doesn't usually start until 6 o'clock so when I come in at 2 I have a different task to tackle. I've been writing 10 question, multiple choice questions for short, children's stories that classes have to read. The funny thing is that I've written upwards of twenty or thirty now but they won't get used until much later so I have no idea whether they are what they need or not. I have also noticed that as the tedium of the job begins to wear on me I find myself getting a bit punchy and making the questions more humorous than what is common of most quizzes in this world. The bi-product is also questions of varying difficulty, depending on my mood at the time. The questions are actually less humorous and more just personalized. For instance, I give the Jersey Shore and Ocean City, Maryland as a possible answers for the location of one story and gave runner as a possible profession for Pablo Picasso. The more absurd possibilities came to life and died on the floor of my mind's cutting room.

I hope I don't get fired. ( Don't worry Mom and Dad, I won't. They like me here for whatever reason.)

The weekend that just passed was rather interesting if not what I expected. The plan for Friday night was to head downtown and maybe hit some of the local haunts for a sip or two. Unfortunately, I served as somewhat of an anchor in light of my 10 o clock exit from the office. As I got ready to leave, after Skyping with my buddy Brando for a spell and finishing my Chilly Chicken over Rice from Han's Deli (My new favorite food spot), I ran int my esteemed friend and colleague Chris who had realized he forgot his apartment keys at the office after a few takes of soju at dinner. Admitting to a degree of intoxication though still holding his own perfectly well, we left the office together and made plans for the remainder of the evening.

Having mutually arrived at the decision to cab it downtown, we alit upon our chariot only for me to spot a few of our friends sitting outside one of the nearby restaurants. Though we had only been in the cab for a minute or so and been moving for maybe half a block, we willfully abandoned our 2200 won to the driver and went to see what our friends were up to. It only took the offer of a couple beers and chairs at their table for us to slowly see the agenda of the evening turn in a different direction. Some more beers and a few prizes from a claw game situated across the street from our restaurant later our thoughts of downtown were drowned by the arrival of a new pitcher of OB Blue.

Very little happened in the way of activity on Friday night but I was given the opportunity to taste yet another bizarre delicacy of the Orient. As we sat, drank and talked, a bowl on the table was brought to my attention. Lying within the bowl, I could see what, from afar, could have passed for tiny hazelnuts or something else of the sort. However, it was quickly brought to my attention that these little morsels were, in fact, silk worm larvae. Being rather certain that these unborn critters would be of greater value to me if given the chance to grow and spin expensive fabrics I wasted no time expressing my disinterest in eating them. However, knowing that those worms-to-be sitting in the bowl were destined to never become the spinners of fabric finery, my argument to hold off their consumption was paper thin and bitterly contested by the others. I could do nothing else but give in. It was only shortly after that I was instilled with a new conviction- that silkworm larvae taste like dirt and that I will never eat another one as long as I live. While I encourage trying new things, my advice to any other future wanderers that encounters this cuisine is to stay away.

Saturday welcomed me to a leisurely morning and a lunch of sushi from the restaurant on the corner of my street. It is a place that I am pretty sure I will be frequenting often during my time here in light of its proximity, economy and quality. I spent some time at the Memorial Park across the street juggling the soccerball and looking, in vain, for Chris, who had fallen asleep underneath a patch of trees after he told me to meet him there. Following a few more lazy Saturday activities I met up with Chris again and we made it over to Os.O where we took part in
some traditional Korean barbecue. From there, the night got interesting.

With most of the food finished and dinner winding down, we were asked by two young gentlemen at the table across from us to join them in a soju shot. Extremely eager to finally see this tradition of Korean hospitality at work we both graciously obliged. From there we were invited to some more shots as our two new friends showed us how to mix and match the spread of sides that comes with the barbecue properly. All the while, our limited understanding of each other's language yielded little more than the exchange of soju and fruitless hand gestures. Still, they were pesistent. Essentially speaking, what we gleaned from the conversation as a whole was that they wanted us to teach them some of our language (which is rather common, apparently) and for us to go with them to a soju bar to continue drinking. While Chris and I were torn between being considerate and taking our Saturday night elsewhere we finally gave in and agreed to go with them to the soju bar.

This where it gets a little strange.

Clearly, our two friends had been drinking more and for a longer time than us at this point and while one of them was rather quiet the other was showing signs of an altered mind. At first, he was just a little bit louder and insistent on things as he labored to communicate with us. However, tradition crossed with the peculiar when our boisterous fellow purchased a dozen or so jelly-rice rolls for dessert. What we noticed earlier, and I found very interesting, was as we took our soju shots it was customary for me to pour one of their shots and for one of them to pour mine. I considered this to be a very commendable practice. However, when I began to realize that this friend of ours was looking to imitate this practice with these dessert rolls I began to become uneasy. Suddenly, this demonstration of respect was becoming a bit awkward for an individual with American sensibilities who sees the prospect of a man feeding another man anything particularly unnerving. Still, for the sake of the cultural divide, Chris and I conceded to save face. It was bizarre, but we persevered. Unfortunately, though somewhat lucky for me, the more outwardly drunk of the gentlemen began to get a bit touchy-feely with the American seated next to him, Chris. Trapped in a booth where this guy was on the outside, my American ally could do nothing but look at me helplessly. Unwilling to be rude but with his personal space being severly compromised we made every effort to relinquish ourselves of their company by using a combined tactic of convincing them that we had work in the morning (A Sunday) and that Chris was drunk, tired and sick. It took an incredible degree of delicate diplomacy but in the end we managed to liberate ourselves from our native captors. It was then that Chris, who is Phillippino himself, declared that he will never go out with another white American in Korea again, explaining that his experience with another one of our friends at dinner the night before was much akin to the one I just narrated.

Sunday afternoon was spent checking out what downtown was like during the day and taking a look at the marketplace. We checked out one of the shopping outlets where we found a Popeye's Chicken restaurant and where I felt compelled to purchase some fried chicken for the betterment of my American arteries. I also made it to what is known as "the foreigner store" where you can buy some of those essentials from home that you can't find elsewhere on the penninsula. The final stop, and perhaps the most interesting, was Yongdong market, which is one of those places straight out of Anthony Bourdain's: No Reservations. Unfortunately, getting to the market during the later afternoon hours is ill-advised. At this point in the day, the smell of the now less than fresh fish and the accompanying swarms of flies outweighs the novelty and thrill of market shopping.

Sunday ended with a few of us heading over to our friend's house who made us some chili made with spices sent from home by her grandma. The food and company was delicious and it was my first meal that felt at all "home-cooked" since I've been here. It was a fine finish to a good weekend.


Thanks for coming out. For now, my pal Josh Groban and I bid you adieu.