Sweet kimchi Jesus, it's been a long time since I've updated this. This has something to do with the fact that I do not own a functioning computer and Blogger is one of three sites that the Jeonbuk Education safe-search fuckgram actually blocks. The other two? The New Yorker and SportsbyBrooks. You figure that out.
There are a couple noteworthy things that I've experienced, but most don't warrant their own post, so we'll dispose of them right now: I've had the best meal I've had the entire time I've been in Korea (a sultry wench that goes by the name Dakdori Tang), witnessed the Rev. Kilimanjaro's triumphant victory over his nemesis, the evil, thieving, and above all Korean, Ten-Dollar, and been considerably creeped out by this website.

Somewhere in there (and pretending to work, no less!) I found time to attend my first K-League soccer game, which our beloved hometown Jeonbuk Hyundai Motors lost 3-0 to the buggering infidels of Daegu FC, due in large part to the fat Brazilian fuck that can be found on the lower right of this page. I speak in all honesty when I say I wish this man was dead. His entire game appears to be falling down and yelling at the refs, which is funny, because THEY'RE FUCKING KOREAN. I may have been drunk by the time he got in the game, and yes, I was drunk by the time he got in the game, but I have never seen a lazier person ever. Despite the number of crosses aimed his way, he never jumped. On the other hand, the sex machine found directly above him on the same page is a Macedonian so badass that the Korean translation of his name is "Stevo." I've always wondered how Koreans would handle one of those eastern European names with a severe dearth of vowels, and the answer is apparently "catastrophically," since when said out loud, it sounds like this: "Suh-Tee-Bo."

So this brings us to the subject of today's post, Yeosan Elementary's ever-exciting "fire festival." It has a simpler, less awesome name, but that was the way it was described to me at first, and I accepted it until I learned it's true meaning during my second class, which every other week would have been my third class. Confusing? Damn skippy, so let's start at the beginning.

On my typical Thursday, I arrive at school a little before nine and slightly more disoriented, as Wednesday is poker night so I don't get to sleep before one. This particular Thursday, I was upon arrival that there was a "fire festival" and that my classes would be rearranged to accomodate it. Normally I have the first class off to dick around on the internet (not, however, on Blogger) and I start teaching at 9:50. Today I was informed that I would teach classes 1,2 and 3 rather than 2, 3 and 4. This was pitched as a positive thing, as I would finish earlier. Although this is true, it is also true that Yeosan is forty-five minutes outside of town and the bus doesn't leave until after lunch, so I would get home at the same time anyway. Anyways, this is beside the point.

Here's where it gets confusing again, my third class would be moved to the first time block, the second to the third and the third to the second. Furthermore, the third class (which is now in the first time block) would not have English class today, as they would need the first time block to prepare for the increasingly-awesome sounding "fire festival." I am actually simplifying the way this was explained to me at 8:40 this morning. I personally would have said it this way: "...." That is, I would have said NOTHING because all that happened was they switched two classes for no sane fucking reason and I would never have noticed anyway! Did I mention this is the same school where the kids taekwondoe the shit out of each other between every class? And someone always, ALWAYS, hurts themselves and the teachers berate the poor bastard who got kicked in the face while everyone points and laughs at him? All I'm saying is they're running a top-notch organization out there. Every goddamn day.

So, my second class rolls around and I'm informed that the "fire festival" will start at 11:00. Some guy is building a pile of firewood and underbrush about ten feet in front of the school's entrance. Needless to say, I'm excited and contemplating how I can accidentally help a kid or two into the raging (dare I say towering?
) inferno.

Then I found out it was a fire drill.

Let that sink in, and then go back and re-read the section about how everyone had class off for the first period so that they could practice. For a drill.

Of course, we couldn't pretend to run while crouching awkwardly and covering our mouths without a real fire, so the principal took it upon himself to light the aforementioned pile of flammable material to give the whole production that little je ne se qua that your average, run-of-the-mill fire drill usually lacks. We then sat in lines outside while the vice principal stood behind the fire, shouting into a bullhorn. She would continue in this manner for the next twenty minutes while the following things transpired:

1. A pair of teachers attempt to put out the blaze with fire extinguishers but fail miserably.

2. A tiny fireman almost gets lifted off the ground, Little Rascals-style, while wrangling with a fire hose as he finishes off the flames.

3. Another teacher and a fifth-grade boy sprint into the school carrying a stretcher. When they come out, they've strapped a little girl to it, who they then load into the ambulance that came along with the fire truck. The ambulance drives, sirens blaring, about thirty feet. The girl gets out and carries the stretcher back to the podium. Just like in real life.

Afterwards, the principal, grinning happily from ear to ear, asked me if I was impressed. I told him yes, but I don't think it was in the same sense that he asked me.

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