As I watch Southern California burn to the ground from my cold one room apartment in South Korea, it strikes me how lucky I am to live, well, in Northern California. What a week it continues to be, lots of goodbyes, lot's of frantic packing, lots of half-assed mask-making at school, and what else? A lot of freaking cuteness at school. Frequent hugs, and some unprecedented moments of tender insanity, like this bizarre exchange.

Andrew teacher: Children this will be my last day at school, will you cry when I'm gone? (finger trailing down my cheek, where tears would be if I could still cry--botched facelift, 1999)

Korean Child: Why are you leaving?

Andrew teacher: I want to see my family.

Korean Child: But, teacher, we are your family now.

Andrew teacher: (Sickening shudder) Let's move on to the lesson, then

And who could forget this?

Andrew teacher: Sang-Ho, how are you?

Sang-Ho: I'm terribum

Andrew teacher: You mean terrible?

Sang-Ho: No. I'm terror bomb. New York City, you know?

Andrew teacher: I know. I don't live there. Sang-Ho your ears are very big. (wide arm movements indicating massive proportions of ears)

Sang-Ho: I am Buddha ears.

Andrew teacher: You certainly are, my friend. Good night sweet prince.

One of my favorite students, a delightful deviant named Gwak Hae Jin, who always asks me about my sexual practices and various methods of birth control, asked me to sing some Eagles' songs in class yesterday. I could only think about the scene in the Big Lebowski where the Dude asks the cab driver to turn off the music. ("It's been a long day, man, and I really hate the Eagles") Then he told me I had an erection. I was pretty sure I didn't, because this class hardly turns me on as some of my others do, but I looked down anyway. Nothing doing. What to say? I told him that this is what it looks like in a normal homeostatic state. He looked at me and said, "so this is what it sounds like when doves cry." Not the Eagles, but this kid knows his stuff.

The last precious moment which I must share was a letter from one of my private students, who Patrick used to teach. The first line reads, "Actually, I like you better than Patrick". Man, I can't wait to show that letter to Patrick.

Okay, on to my last day of teaching!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

really, really no time. Large blog in the works. Send money.

Andrew

I have a date...with a big piece of flying steel that I'll call an airplane, and it's Monday November 3rd, so maybe I'll be home in time to play hoops at Urban on Tuesday, wouldn't that be loverly? I think so. All the same I will miss this crazy peninsula more than I let on sometimes, and in all likliehood I'll be back eventually. I'm beginning to pass of my private lessons to a new teacher, and seriously it's like entrusting a part of my life for the past year to him, as ridiculous as that is to say. I had a going away party in my honor from a family last night. They prepared quite a spread for me, and then we drank our faces off for a solid hour and half. Then the most remarkable thing happened, the father of one of the students, with whom I had not exchanged more than a friendly subservient bow with in a year, stumbled home, already drunk from... wherever it is that he works/drinks. He sidled right up next to me and started yammering at me in the thickest Daegu dialect (which is thicker and more incomprehensible than most Korean dialects) for a good 15 minutes. I took one look into his bloodshot eyes and fell in love (he had his hand on my inner thigh, what was I supposed to do?) I didn't understand a word, and so I drank, then his wife farted. I pretended I didn't notice, because she gave me a bottle of fragrant shower wash, but I caught it. Diplomacy at all costs. Speaking of, there was more absurd talk of negroes last night which always spices up the lessons. As we were saying goodbye near the elevator, the father started gyrating in a bizarre circular motion and grinning maniacly, as if to suggest that this farewell needn't be so somber. It was truly an indelible image. This morning I went to the last of the LIKE teaching workshops that I will ever be attending, and as per usual it was mind-numbing and horrifying to see the collection of people that I work with, and the company which I work for. Kim In-Hwan, the major-domo of the Mickey-Mouse operation known as LIKE, kept the stupidity to a minimum today, although he did find time to pantomime the hand motions to the "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" which he mistakenly sang as the "Eensy-Weensy spider" which was a spectacular acheivement--that man has some pipes, he lent some deep emotion to the spider's unfortunate accident. Also, he invited all the foreign teachers to a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner at one of the local Army bases, but then he excused himself because he and his wife would be taking a $1000 trip to Hawaii instead. We were all wondering where he would be and how much it would cost him, so I'm glad he cleared that up. And that's about it.

"I want to befriend a negro"

Don't we all? It is statements like these that make me never want to leave this enlightened nation, but nevertheless, leave I must. Around the first of next month, if my employers are to be believed. The aforementioned declaration was delivered quite sincerely by a student of mine named Sung-Wook, who leaves for Australia next month, with a vast array of multicultural and diplomatic skills at his disposal. When asked why he wanted to befriend said negro, he replied that they have big muscles, are good at basketball, and do interesting handshakes with each other. I tought him how to give a pound, the unofficial negro handshake, should the occasion arise. My legacy will be the seed of diversity I've planted deep into the Korean subconcious. Undoubtedly all the negroes in Australia will flock to Sung-Wook, with his newfound knowledge of traditional handshaking and open-minded gregariousness. On a sadder note, Fenton burned my hair yesterday on purpose, an incident I can ill afford repeated.

No news is good news? A two hour window to make a decision, then nothing... strange. Leaning toward coming home for at least a month then making a decision. I like the Pirates of the Carribean.

After a solid two months of twisting in the dirty Korean wind waiting for my boss to approach me about extending my contract (at which time I was to throw a shoe at him, yelp and run to the airport), I finally received a call. A call not from my boss, but from one of the many LIKE minions, the aptly named Scott Kim. Not sure why his name is apt, but it is. Scott effectively destroyed my months of indeciscive flip-flopping by giving me two hours to decide my immediate future. Incentives, you ask? How about an $80 pay raise and all the canned tuna one can eat? As compelling as these nuggets are, I was still leaning towards the shoe scenario. Despite this I think a mumbled something to Scott about considering returning for 6 months under the right circumstances (i.e. $200, the tuna, and all the tea in China. That's right, all the tea.) So possibly I'm committed to that. Also, I am to take a Korean bride at once. So much for negotiations. I like to think I play hardball. I have to run to work, still mulling things over.

I'm having way to much fun with this Friendster site. It's the coolest. Reconnecting with all my peeps from the bay and beyond. So much fun in fact that I still haven't found a new job, which might be helpful now that I'm 20 days away from freedom, horrible freedom. It's getting cold outside and the Giants loss still eating away at me. No warmth. I think I finally properly distinguished one of my students from her twin sister tonight, nearly 9 months into our lessons. Then their mother cooked me dinner. Score.

It's with a heavy heart that I blog now that my Giants have been eliminated from contention. My sleeplessness knows no bounds as my boys wasted one of the most dominant seasons in recent memory in four close-fought games with the fake-ass expansion Marlins. Boo. Otherwise my last three day weekend before my contract expires was one of revelry and drunkenness. Initially I had no plans for these days except to find a new job online, e-mail friends and family and pick up the new Outkast record, but shamefully, none of those things happened. What did happen was drinking, and lot's of it. Scrabble too, happened. It was for lack of a more potent word, fun. With a dry, cool vocabulary like that you better believe I won with help from Eileen. Also, I slept with a stinky cat. His name is Wally, because Fenton found him near a wall. Then more drinking. I ate at TGI Fridays which ideally I will never do again, though I enjoyed my three-hour, $90 meal of various fried unpleasantness surrounded by artificial veneers, boundless flair and stocking clad waitresses. We didn't get balloons though. What's next for me? I really don't know yet, which is why I don't blog so much these days. I've left things to the last minute, and now I begin to worry a bit about the prospect of getting a plan together over the next three weeks. Let me know if you have any advice. I'm taking a vacation for sure, but where that happens and what will follow is still yet to be determined. So my friend Robin invited me to the site called Friendster and wouldn't you know it about 15 of my best friends from the city are members and very funny people at that. It was good to think about them again and the site is pretty damn cool as well. It's actually right up there with Illmitch.com, which I've supported from day 1. To bed with me.



You're not the only one but you're the best, Wally