tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-758719074821663872024-03-05T11:32:19.601-08:00Forty Minutes Of HellYet another sports rant from people with zero credentials.Forty Minutes Of Hellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05722548367840764016noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-13236318652811727362013-03-19T05:44:00.000-07:002013-03-28T19:16:03.606-07:00July 4th Mix, or America: Still Better Than Mexico in Several Social and Economic IndicatorsOnce again, a holiday mixtape that's late or early by several months. I think I'll lay off the profanity and get right into the juicy mix-meat, shall I? As always, mix them up however, and certain songs (living in Americas, swimming songs and anthems were extremely overrepresented) can be cherry picked. For instance I barely like Radiohead, but understand that people think they're Audio Jesus, so I put National Anthem on there. It would not be played at a Sheldon T Scranton BBQ. Believe that.<br /><br /><ol>
<li>Constructive Summer - Hold Steady</li>
<li>America - Neil Diamond</li>
<li>America! - Bill Callahan</li>
<li>July, July! - The Decemberists</li>
<li>Rock, Flag, and Eagle - Charlie Kelley</li>
<li>What's Left of the Flag - Flogging Molly</li>
<li>America You Look Good, Reuben's Accomplice</li>
<li>National Anthem - Radiohead</li>
<li>Anthem - King Tuff</li>
<li>Anthem - Cerebral Ballzy</li>
<li>9-5er's Anthem - Aesop Rock</li>
<li>Intl. Player's Anthem - UGK</li>
<li>Summertime Thing - Chuck Prophet</li>
<li>Saturn Missiles - Aesop Rock</li>
<li>BBQ - Wendy Renee</li>
<li>Point Breeze - Marah</li>
<li>Rocket - Home By Hovercraft</li>
<li>Looking Up - Eels</li>
<li>Fourth Night of My Drinking - Drive By Truckers</li>
<li>American Music - Violent Femmes</li>
<li>Born in the U.S.A. - Bruce Springsteen</li>
<li>Living in America - James Brown</li>
<li>Living in America - The Sounds</li>
<li>Livin' in America - Black 47</li>
<li>Living in America - DOM</li>
<li>American Girls - Homie</li>
<li>Young Americans - Bowie</li>
<li>Kids in America - Muffs</li>
<li>American Cheese - Electric Six</li>
<li>Bottle Rocket - Go! Team</li>
<li>American Slang - Gaslight Anthem</li>
<li>New England (probably helps if you live there) - Johnathan Richman</li>
<li>American Dream (+Prelude) - Killer Mike</li>
<li>American Girl - Tom Petty</li>
<li>Last American Virgin - Oxford Collapse</li>
<li>Do Miss America - Ryan Adams</li>
<li>North American Scum - LCD SoundSystem</li>
<li>New American Language - Dan Bern</li>
<li>Mexican Americans - Cheech & Chong</li>
<li>Gunpowder - Black Joe Louis and the Honeybears</li>
<li>American Jesus - Bad Religion</li>
<li>Half Steering Half Eating Ice Cream - Spymob</li>
<li>Swimming Song - Loudon Wainright</li>
<li>Swimming Pools - Kedrick Lamar</li>
<li>Swimming Pools - Thao Nguyen</li>
<li>Swimming - Killer Mike</li>
<li>Back in the USA - Chuck Berry</li>
<li>Revolution Rock - The Clash</li>
<li>I'm Your Brave Little Soldier - The Eels</li>
<li>Go Outside - Cults</li>
<li>Outside World - XTC</li>
<li>Happy Song - Shantee</li>
<li>We're Gonna Live in the Trees - Robyn Hitchcock</li>
<li>Treehouse - I'm From Barcelona</li>
<li>Walking Under Green Leaves - Spymob</li>
<li>I Write Summer Songs For No Reason - Acid House Kings</li>
<li>Green Grass - Tanlines</li>
<li>President - Dan Bern</li>
<li>Keep on Rockin' in the Free World - Neil Young</li>
<li>Please Visit Your National Parks - Oxford Collapse</li>
<li>Freedom Park - Marah</li>
<li>Big Weekend - Tom Petty</li>
<li>Massive Nights - Hold Steady</li>
<li>Fly Fly Fishing Poles - Spymob</li>
<li>Summertime - Beck</li>
</ol>Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-84641832079988421702012-02-16T20:49:00.001-08:002015-05-27T04:54:57.291-07:00The Double-Clutchin', Jake-Brakin', Long-Haulin', Knock-'em-Down, Pick-'em-Up Truckin' Mix!!! (To end all double-clutchin', jake-brakin', long-haulin', knock-'em-down, pick-'em-up truckin' mixes)So I made the best roadtrip mix in the world. Here it is, with songs grouped by category. Songs that belong in more than one category are in whatever category I feel like putting them in because I am neither Melvil Dewey not Aloysius Decimal.<br />
<br />
<u>Super American Countryass Truckin'/Hoboin' Songs</u><br />
Rock, Flag and Eagle - Charlie Kelly<br />
Eastbound and Down - Jerry Reed<br />
This is One Hell of a Truck - Parry Gripp<br />
The Show is on the Road - Paleface<br />
I've Been Everywhere - Johnny Cash<br />
Big Mamma-Jamma - Parry Gripp<br />
The Gambler - Kenny Rogers<br />
Good Woman, Good Truck, Good Life - Parry Gripp<br />
Nice Motherf@#*&g Truck - Parry Gripp<br />
Girl on The Billboard - Del Reeves<br />
Honk if You're Lonely - Silver Jews<br />
The Road Goes On Forever (And the Party Never Ends) - Robert Earl Keen<br />
Highway Halo - Old Crow Medicine Show<br />
King of the Road - Roger Miller<br />
Wagon Wheel - Old Crow Medicine Show<br />
In The Air - The Handsome Family<br />
Truck Drivin' Man - Parry Gripp<br />
Truck Driving Man - David Allan Coe<br />
The Righteous Path - Drive-by Truckers<br />
Down That Dusty Trail - Robert Earl Keen<br />
On The Road Again - Willie Nelson<br />
Movin' On - David Allan Coe<br />
<br />
<u>Honky Tonkin'</u><br />
Ain't Got No Home - Clarence Frogman Henry<br />
Mess Around - Ray Charles<br />
Amos Moses - Jerrry Reed<br />
Jambalaya - Buckwheat Zydeco<br />
<br />
<u>Super American Driving (Non Countryass Division) Songs</u><br />
Driving Song - The Jessica Fletchers<br />
Big Big Road - Sam Means<br />
Long Haul - Voxtrot<br />
Rollin' Crumblin' - Tom Rothrock<br />
Rollin' and Tumblin' - Bob Dylan<br />
Goin' Out West - Tom Waits<br />
Cannonball Run Theme - Ray Stevens<br />
On Our Way - The Jessica Fletchers<br />
Honk and Wave - Limbeck<br />
Everyone's in the Parking Lot - Limbeck<br />
Rockford Files Theme - Mike Post<br />
Wheel You To Canada - Dan Bern<br />
The Drive Will Do You Good - Sure Juror<br />
The Golden Path - Chemical Brothers feat. The Flaming Lips<br />
America! - Bill Callahan<br />
Road to Nowhere - Talking Heads<br />
The High Road - The Feelies<br />
American Highway - Ezra Furman & the Harpoons<br />
The Wheel - Bill Callahan<br />
Punk Rock Radio - Marah<br />
<br />
<u>Haulin' Ass</u><br />
Tick of the Clock - The Chromatics<br />
Roadrunner - Johnathan Richman and the Modern Lovers<br />
4000 Miles - Blackalicious<br />
300mph Torrential Outpour Blues - White Stripes<br />
Beat the Clock - Sparks<br />
Murdermile - The Kills<br />
Making Progress - Electric Six<br />
Rolling/Nectarine - Hooray For Earth<br />
Running Out of Time - Hot Hot Heat<br />
Need More Time - Epoxies<br />
<br />
<u>Places I Drove To/Through</u><br />
San Francisco B.C. - Silver Jews<br />
The Road To Bakersfield - Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash<br />
Yosemite Theme - The Go! Team<br />
Pacific Ocean Blues - Dennis Wilson<br />
Sequestered in Memphis - The Hold Steady<br />
88 Seconds in Greensboro - Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark<br />
Nutbush City Limits - Ike & Tina Turner<br />
Christian St. - Marah<br />
I'm from New Jersey - John Gorka<br />
Within a Mile of Home - Flogging Molly<br />
I Love New York City - Andrew W.K.<br />
<br />
<u>Warren Zevon</u>***<br />
Mama Couldn't be Persuaded<br />
Nighttime in the Switching Yard<br />
I Need A Truck<br />
I'll Sleep When I'm Dead<br />
Backs Turned, Looking Down the Path<br />
My Ride's Here<br />
<br />
<u>Tom Petty</u>***<br />
Running Down a Dream<br />
You Wreck Me<br />
Turn This Car Around<br />
Time to Move On<br />
Six Days on the Road (as Mudcrutch)<br />
<br />
<u>Pains in the Ass</u><br />
The Wacky World of Rapid Transit - Del Tha Funkee Homosapien<br />
Hard Road to Travel - Jimmy Cliff<br />
The Road - The Kinks<br />
Nowhere Fast - Blackalicious<br />
Gridlock! - Electric 6<br />
Long Line of Cars - Cake<br />
None Shall Pass - Aesop Rock<br />
Stop - Against Me!<br />
Green Light - Jaime Lidell<br />
Red Lights - Holy Fuck<br />
<br />
<u>Catastrophic Wrecks</u><br />
Wrecking Force - Voxtrot<br />
Drunk By Noon - Handsome Family<br />
DUI - Har Mar Superstar<br />
Tombstone Every Mile - David Allen Coe<br />
Rent a Wreck - Suburban Kids With Biblical Names<br />
Big Joe and Phantom 309 - Tom Waits<br />
Accident and Emergency - Patrick Wolf<br />
<br />
<u>Windows Down Bumping Awesome</u><br />
Situation - Making Friendz<br />
Ya Lil' Crumbsnatchers - Del Tha Funkee Homosapien<br />
Mother's Day - Ezra Furman & the Harpoons<br />
Nighttiming - Coconut Records<br />
Age of Consent - New Order<br />
Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues - Mclusky<br />
All Wrapped Up - Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark<br />
Tunak Tunak Tan - Dahler Mende<br />
I Can't Wait - Big Baby Jesus<br />
New Soft Architect - The Weather Machines***<br />
Life During Wartime - Talking Heads<br />
<br />
<u>Blue Collar Bustin' Yo Ass Songs</u><br />
Labor - Aesop Rock<br />
My Name is Cheech The School Bus Driver - Cheech Marin<br />
This Fucking Job - Drive By Truckers<br />
I Hate My Job - Cam'ron<br />
Mr. Blue Collar - Rhymefest feat. Malik Yusef<br />
<br />
<u>Runnin' From Johnny Law</u><br />
Guilty As Charged - Dewey Cox<br />
Nightcall - Kavinsky & LoveFoxxx<br />
Thou Shalt Always Kill - Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip<br />
Dukes of Hazzard Theme<br />
Alabama High-Test - Old Crow Medicine Show<br />
Cops on Our Tail - The Raveonettes<br />
Pacific Coast Highway - Kavinsky<br />
Escape Artist - Sage Francis<br />
Flashing Lights - Kanye West<br />
Pop Shit - Dirt McGirt****<br />
<br />
<u>The Vehicle</u><br />
No Brakes - The Bravery<br />
Transmission - Radio 4<br />
Dashboard - Modest Mouse<br />
Rumble of The Deisel - Les Claypool*<br />
The Waning Moon - The Hidden Cameras**<br />
First Gear - The Rapture<br />
Rental Car - Beck<br />
Rearview Mirror - Pearl Jam<br />
Jesus Built My Hotrod - Ministry<br />
Bitchin' Camaro - Dead Milkmen<br />
Go-Go Tech - VACo<br />
Don't Stop Living in the Red - Andrew W. K.<br />
Keep the Car Running - Arcade Fire<br />
EZ Pass - Har Mar Superstar<bt> </bt><br />
<bt>Radio Radio - Elvis Costello<br />
Stuck Between Stations - Hold Steady<br />
<br />
<u>Fuel</u><br />
Running on Nothing - Fucked Up<br />
Running on Empty - Jackson Browne<br />
Running on Faith - Eric Clapton<br />
Running out of Turbo - The Sounds<br />
Carbon Monoxide - Cake<br />
<br />
<u>The Actual Road</u><br />
Endless Black Ribbon - David Allan Coe<br />
Bridge to Nowhere - Sam Roberts<br />
Road to Nowhere - Talking Heads<br />
Neighborhood #3 (Tunnels) - Arcade Fire<br />
Blessed Highway - Home By Hovercraft<br />
<br />
<u>Too-Clever-By-Half Bits of Themework (First 3 and Next 2 To be played in order)</u><br />
Prologue - Chains and Black Exhaust<br />
Yeah Yeah - Blackrock<br />
Epilogue - Chains and Black Exhaust<br />
The Large Marge Monologue<br />
Big Joe and Phantom 309 - Tom Waits<br />
Nothing But Flowers - Talking Heads (Drive through Midwest America before you shit on this one)<br />
<br />
<u>The Greatest Driving Song Ever</u><br />
Wicked and Wierd - Buck 65<br />
<br />
*About boats, so what. The lyrics work 90% for a truckin' mix. Blow me.<br />
**Wiperblades foley effects. Pretty rad. Also listen to Underage by them. Awesome song about preteen sex. Enough of these watchwords in our site and the misdirected pedophile traffic is gonna vault us to whatever happens to a popular blog. I guess a book deal, and then a "Why give away the milk when you can sell the milk for more?" style immediate cessation in any new posts, Stuff White People Like Style?<br />
***There's a lot of Tom Petty and Warren Zevon on here because they are the best. There's a ton of David Allan Coe on here because he never wrote a <b>non</b>-trucking song, and some are pretty good. The Weather Machines were the best, and that they didn't catch on in '06 is something you're going to have to square up with your God for at some point. Most of the guys are now in the Mystery Pills, just as awesome, and I will cut your throat in your sleep if that band goes under. Yes. You.<br />
****Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is better than playing a song with loud, sudden cop sirens in the background when someone who doesn't know the song is driving.</bt>Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-81917325077507447822012-02-07T22:29:00.000-08:002012-10-27T09:38:20.113-07:00Chang-a-langle Bells!So this is about a Christmas Mix.<br />
<br />
First off, fuck you, I'll post whenever I feel like it. Second off, I meant to write this up last year but didn't because of not doing it, so it's actually over a year late, and not a few months as you'd stupidly supposed.<br />
<br />
Ass of you and me.<br />
<br />
Here goes nothin! As usual it's up to you to put these in whatever order you like.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Big Sale - Parry Gripp</li>
<li>Another Rock And Roll Christmas - Gary Glitter</li>
<li>Holiday Road - Lindsey Buckingham</li>
<li>Wise Man - Desmond Dekker</li>
<li>Fuck You If You Don't Like Christmas - Crudbump</li>
<li>Christmas Duel - Cyndi Lauper vs. The Hives</li>
<li>Get Behind Me, Santa - Sufjan Stevens</li>
<li>Merry Christmas (I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight) - The Ramones</li>
<li>Fairytale of New York - The Pogues ft. Christy McCall</li>
<li>It's Christmas so We'll Stop - Frightened Rabbit</li>
<li>Memphis Christmas - Star and Micey</li>
<li>Whiskey Christmas - Darby O' Gill and the Little People</li>
<li>Dominic The Christmas Donkey - Lou Monte</li>
<li>Party Hard - Little Isidore</li>
<li>Linus and Lucy - Vince Guaraldi Trio</li>
<li>Father Christmas - The Kinks</li>
<li>Holly Jolly Christmas - The Format</li>
<li>New York Is a Christmas Kind of Town - Marah</li>
<li>I Want an Alien For Christmas - Fountains of Wayne</li>
<li>Christmas All Over Again - Tom Petty</li>
<li>Merry Christmas From the Family - Robert Earl Keen</li>
<li>Faith - George Michael*</li>
<li>Jesus Built My Hotrod - Ministry*</li>
<li>Electronic Santa - Blazer Force </li>
<li>Hooray For Santa Claus - Parry Gripp</li>
<li>Holly Jolly Christmas - The Format</li>
<li>My Beerdrunk Soul is Sadder Than a Hundred Dead Christmas Trees - Joy Formidable</li>
<li>Why Can't it Be Christmastime All Year - Rosie Thomas</li>
<li>Toys - The Epoxies</li>
<li>That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! - Sufjan Stevens</li>
<li>The Ice Storm - The Go! Team</li>
<li>Valley Winter Song - Fountains of Wayne</li>
<li>Holidays - Miami Horror</li>
<li>A Gift For Melody Lane - Avett Brothers</li>
<li>Spirit of Giving - The New Pornographers</li>
<li>Bizarre Christmas Incident - Ben Folds</li>
<li>Toy Jackpot - Blackalicious</li>
<li>Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas - Eels</li>
<li>Is This Christmas? - The Wombats</li>
<li>Joe Christ - Dan Bern</li>
<li>Waters of Nazareth - Justice</li>
<li>Holly - Sleigh Bells</li>
<li>Chimbley Sweep - Decemberists</li>
<li>Mr. Mistletoe - The Electric Fields</li>
<li>Red Eyed Santa - Dick Smith</li>
<li>I-pod X-mas - Hello Saferide</li>
<li>You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch - Boris Karloff</li>
<li>The Lonely Jew on Christmas - Kyle Broflofski</li>
<li>Christmas in Harlem - Kanye West</li>
<li>Christmas Vacation - Mavis Staples</li>
<li>Christmas Won't Be the Same This Year - Jackson 5</li>
<li>Jesus Christ Was an Only Child - Modest Mouse</li>
<li>Havin' My Baby - Think About Life*</li>
<li>Annunciation Day/Born on Christmas Day - Ted Leo</li>
</ol>
*Certain songs may have a somewhat tenuous connection to Jesus, presents, winter, snow, what have you. If you've heard these songs, and it's even occurred to you to question their place on this list, you are a Communist.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-79737610470813444932010-10-08T18:14:00.000-07:002014-09-11T18:05:47.557-07:00The Halloween Mix BodhisattvaFirst off, I know exactly what the hell the title means. This fucking mix could have transcended to a realm of pure energy years ago, but it chose to remain among the scum and filth of this world to show you the way.<br />
<br />
Before you get to see the mix, a brief word about how you've been fucking up your Halloween mix all these years.<br />
<br />
First of all, Halloween is not actually about Satan, devils monsters and such. No one celebrates Halloween to legitimately be scared. Kids do it to dress up like their favorite cartoon characters and pass out in a puddle of chocolate vomit at the end of the night. Adults do it to have an excuse to act like immature little kids again, and pass out in a puddle of regular vomit at the end of the night.<br />
<br />
Therefore black/death/speed metal does not belong on a Halloween mix. Unless your Halloween party is a bunch of pimply 14-year-olds with aggression problems playing D&D in your parent's rec room, this is totally inappropriate. However, music that puts forth a "spooky" air, but is still fun to listen to, i.e. The Horror, or Fresh Blood is great. It reminds people that they're at a theme party, but they enjoy it, also. Crazy right?<br />
<br />
Examples: http://www.cinemablend.com/music/The-Official-2008-CB-Music-Halloween-Mix-Tape-13108.html Tracks 2, 10 and 21. This is after he makes the same argument I just did.<br />
<br />
Secondly, if you're the kind of music nerd who's got enough music to make theme mixtapes for parties, it's going to be hard to remember where the "killer" is 'mongst all the "filler". But some of these mixtapes look like the person went to the itunes search bar and just typed "ghost", "Monster" "Vampire" etc in and added whatever got coughed up. "Werewolf" by Cat Power, and "Zombie" by the Cranberries might seem like they'd fit if you don't give two shits about what you're doing. And Christ help you if put Vampire Weekend or some such on there. The only one who sees the Artist Name and Track Title are you. Everyone else just listens to the music. Nothing about the Starlight Mints' Rhino Stomp suggests it'd work in a Halloween mix, but by God, it does.<br />
<br />
Example: That last blog, tracks 4, 14, 18. Edgar Winter's Frankenstein? Don't Fear the Reaper? Fucking <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Donovan</span>?!<br />
<br />
http://freemusicarchive.org/curator/WFMU/blog/Creative_Commons_Halloween_Mix This is probably the ugliest mess of hipster "obscurity trumps everything" I've ever seen. Like two of these songs work.<br />
<br />
Thirdly, and I think I may be the first person in the history of the internet to realize this, but we used to be ten years old. That's why Halloween is awesome, regressing to that time. And what thought consumed our every waking minute all the way through October? Fucking <span style="font-weight: bold;">candy</span> is what! What kind of goth nerd gets so wrapped up in the fake spiderwebs and construction paper bats that he puts Black Sabbath on a Halloween mix and neglects "Candyman", "Sugar High" "I Want Candy" et al.?<br />
<br />
Fourth: the Monster Mash. It is just <span style="font-style: italic;">horrible</span>. It's obvious, it's not a fun song it's not good music and you can't even listen ironically to it since it gets played every year at every party like clockwork. "The Blob" however, is awesome.<br />
<br />
Fifth: Even if the song is awesome, and it's got a cool title and all, if it doesn't fit or flow, it's out. Fela Kuti's Zombie is awesome and fits, but at 12 plus minutes, it'll be bringing up the rear or departing. Sex and Candy is almost too on the nose, but it's slow and not really superfun. It's on probation. Gorillaz "November Has Come" is a cute little bit of themework, but I couldn't get it to fit so out it goes. Gotta be flexible.<br />
<br />
Sixth: Like every Mix on the internet seems to be broken up into one or more groups of like 10-15 songs. This isn't 2003, you don't have to burn this shit to a cd. It can be as long as you like, and since your party will hopefully be going for more than an hour or two it just makes sense to make it super long.<br />
<br />
Here they are, in no particular order. A mix three times as long, ten times as fun, with more angles to it than your average unimaginative haunted house album that tends to get made. You're welcome. I'll probably be adding and subtracting all the way up to the 31st so if you've got a suggestion let's hear it.<br />
<br />
Michael Jackson: Thriller, obviously<br />
The Hives: Abracadaver<br />
Oingo Boingo: Dead Man's Party<br />
Genesis: Justice<br />
Do The Know It's Hallowee'n: The North American Halloween Prevention Initiative<br />
The Horror: RJD2<br />
Wolf Like Me: TV on the Radio<br />
Awoo: Hidden Cameras<br />
Date With The Night: Yeah Yeah Yeahs<br />
Engwish Bwudd: Man Man<br />
Scarecrow: Martin Rebelski<br />
Howlin' For You: Black Keys<br />
Satan Said Dance: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah<br />
God Bless The Dead: 2Pac<br />
Heads Will Roll (Dance till You're Dead): Yeah Yeah Yeahs<br />
The Return of Evil Bill: Clinic<br />
Zombie: Fela Kuti<br />
Halloween: Aqua<br />
Rhino Stomp: Starlight Mints<br />
Boogie Monster: Gnarls Barkely<br />
Curse of Millhaven: Nick Cave/Bad Seeds<br />
Dig, Lazarus, Dig!: Nick Cave/Bad Seeds<br />
Candy for Everyone: The Late B.P. Helium<br />
Fresh Blood: Eels<br />
Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps): David Bowie<br />
Eyes of the Night: Starlight Mints<br />
All Alone: Gorillaz<br />
Chase The Devil: Eagles of Death Metal<br />
Voodoo Lady: Ween<br />
Lollipop (Candyman): Aqua<br />
The Blue Wrath: I-Monster<br />
Nightmares: Clipse<br />
Chocolate Pope: Electric Six<br />
Ghost Town: The Specials<br />
The Mask: Danger Doom<br />
The Blob: The Five Blobs<br />
M1 A1: Gorillaz<br />
Dracula's Wedding: Outkast<br />
Sugar High: Coyote Shivers<br />
Werewolf Bar Mitzvah: Tracey Jordan<br />
Sex and Candy: Marcy Playground<br />
Goodbye Horses: Q Lazarus<br />
Pretend We're Dead: L7<br />
Ghostbusters Theme: Ray Parker Jr.<br />
A Nightmare on My Street: DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince:<br />
Tootsee Roll: 69 Boyz<br />
The Robots: Teddybears<br />
The Boy Least Likely To is a Machine: The Boy Least Likely To<br />
Mr. Vampire: Torches<br />
Monster: Kanye West<br />
Posed to Death: The Faint<br />
Paranoiaattack: The Faint<br />
<br />
Suggested by Brendan:<br />
Skulls: Misfits<br />
Halloween: Mudhoney<br />
<br />
Consider the game elevated.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-63784455495678341092009-12-02T06:08:00.000-08:002009-12-02T06:09:01.216-08:00Also, Thishttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYkw-5htPw0&feature=player_embeddedSeldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-54717399923393754742009-12-02T06:00:00.000-08:002009-12-02T06:08:36.217-08:00Cloisterfuck HashSo, I'm the designated "quote" secretary "unquote" of the local hash club, which means I write down the minutes of the run/bar crawls. Being that this is the only funny thing I've written since I've moved out here, and nothing's gone up since Freshman took off for Meheeco in July, I figured I'd post it to give our obsessive readership something new to look at.<br /><br />First, the Good News:<br /><br />The ever-striving perfectionists of the Metro Transit Authority decided to spruce up the A line for our arrival to the Cloisters this past Sunday. While they weren't quite able to finish on time, we understand that these things don't hold to a strict timetable, and we all look forward to seeing what they decided to do with the place. Fortunately the weather was just right for a 20-block hike up the mountainside. <br /><br />Then everyone's favorite members of the local constabulary, Officers Nunez and Silvano stopped by to say hi and volunteered to give an impromptu lecture on local drinking regulations and good citizenship. They were so impressed with our group that they invited a select few of us to part 2 of the lecture series at the courthouse downtown. (For those of you who like Law and Order, part two is when the prosecuting attorneys browbeat you and any family members they can drag into the interrogation room with grade school level pop psychology while your defense sits dumbly in a corner until you fly into a rage and blurt out a full confession) A formal invitation was extended to the officers to join our club.<br /><br />Finally the hash was off, over hill and dale, down cliff and up. I provided plenty of checks to keep the hahsers together and chit-chatting as well as to give them valuable looking for things practice. We all arrived at the City II Bar, which has amazing specials Friday night, or at least that's what I think the regulars were telling me through their tracheotomy holes. Beer was poured and fun was had, I imagine, being that I was immediately off. Just outside the door, the bartendress and her friend asked me how everyone knew to come to the bar. I directed her to the day-glo green chalk "On-In" written on the sidewalk with a series of arrows leading up to it that she was standing on, explained that that was us, and extended a formal invitation to the hash to both of these osteoperotic maids of the bar.<br /><br />The hash then got a valuable lesson in history as they proceeded through New York's historic Spinning Rim and Car Wash and Sidewalk Sneaker Sale District. The headlines and great men and women to rise from this fertile soil are far too numerous to name here. They then proceeded into Hibridge Park and were sent up a cliffside covered in loose dirt. As they climbed huge sheets of topsoil and trash rained down over them, and they were able to get a look at both the geologic strata that make up our beloved island and valuable artifacts from yesteryear that demonstrated how people lived back in the olden times of yore. Once they got to the top, they traveled around ball- and BMX- parks looking for flour. Fortunately I had given the local children invaluable truth-telling lessons, as its never too early to instill good character. Hopefully they were of some help to the pack.<br /><br />Finally, a mere 6 blocks away from the on-in, those crazy, fitness obsessed bravos that make up our hash decided to run in random directions for about 45 minutes, to really blast their glutes before they called it a night. Meanwhile I became fast friends with Jimmy, the local manager of Mi Nido Taverna who told me all about how to spot a whore (pretty much every female in the bar) and what to do in the sticky situation where what you thought was a regular girl turns out to <b>be</b> a whore and demands money. It was pretty much an hour of stories about for-profit blowjobs. Anyway, we got talking about soul music and he loaded the jukebox with money to give us free tunes for the rest of the night. Needless to say, a formal invitation was offered to Jimmy to join the hash.<br /><br />By this time I had become so besotted that I forgot what was hash cash and what was my money and bought $30 worth of $2 beers because happy hour was ending and then used what was left in my wallet to buy fried chicken. The pack arrived right then, and there was much rejoicing. Stain sang his favorite lingering eternity of a song, Just Rick almost got his head bashed with a pool cue for addressing someone in Spanish, and Just Sean got a front row seat to the whole drunken mess. <br /><br />All of which brings me, with great reluctance, to the bad news.<br /><br />A bunch of whiny jerks made me drink beers for stuff I didn't even do and now it's morning and my head hurts.<br /><br />Until next month, you bold centurions!<br /><br />Type A-HoleSeldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-57577667980370842812009-07-30T09:06:00.000-07:002009-07-30T09:23:12.994-07:00On the Lyrics of "Maneater," by Hall & OatesShe`ll only come out at night, the lean and hungry type<br />Nothing is new I`ve seen her here before…Watching and waiting<br />Ooh, she`s sitting with you but her eyes are on the door<br />So many have paid to see what you think you`re getting for free<br />The woman is wild, a she-cat tamed by the purr of a jaguar<br />Money`s the matter, if you`re in it for love, you ain`t gonna get too far<br /><br />(Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she`ll chew you up<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) she`s a maneater<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she`ll chew you up<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) she`s a maneater<br /><br />I wouldn`t if I were you, I know what she can do<br />She`s deadly, man, she could really rip your world apart<br />Mind over matter, ooh, the beauty is there, but a beast is in the heart<br /><br />(Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she`ll chew you up<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) she`s a maneater<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) watch out boy, she`ll chew you up<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) she`s a maneater<br /><br />Ooooooooooh ooh (Oh oh, here she comes) here she comes<br />Watch out boy, she`ll chew you up<br />(Oh oh, here she comes, watch out) she`s a maneater<br />(Oh oh, here she comes, she`s a maneater) Ooh, she`ll chew you up<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) Here she comes, she`s a maneater<br />(Oh oh, here she comes, watch out) She`ll only come out at night, oo<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) Here she comes, she`s a maneater<br />(Oh oh, here she comes, she`s a maneater) the woman is wild<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) here she comes<br />Watch out, boy, watch out, boy (Oh oh, here she comes)<br />Oh watch out, watch out, watch out, watch out<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) Yeah yeah, she`s a maneater<br />(Oh oh, here she comes, she’s a maneater) She’s watching and waiting<br />(Oh oh, here she comes) Oh, she’s a maneater<br /><br />I believe the preceding are the lyrics for Hall & Oates 1982 single "Maneater." The song reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 that same year! Way to go, Hall & Oates! Furthermore, the song was supposedly inspired by actress Kelly LeBrock, who starred alongside <span style="font-style: italic;">Forty Minutes of Hell </span>favorite and accomplished bluesman Steven F. Seagal in<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>the 1990 film <span style="font-style: italic;">Hard to Kill</span>. Critics are divided on whether or not Seagal's greatest achievement is the cover of his 2005 album, <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Seagalsongs.jpg">Songs from the Crystal Cave</a>, </span>or the title of the ninth track of his 2006 follow-up, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mojo_Priest"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mojo Priest</span></a>.<br /><br />I know what you're thinking - that all this was just an elaborate excuse to post the video at the bottom of this post - but you're wrong -<span style="font-style: italic;">dead wrong</span>. It was all just an accident - <span style="font-style: italic;">a happy accident</span>.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3Jji78uEW14&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3Jji78uEW14&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Editor's Note: For full effect, sans <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Dewees">Reggie</a>, the clip above should be watched repeatedly until enlightenment is attained and the viewer transcends samsara and achieves moksha. Devotees of Mahayana Buddhism may choice to leave the material realm and become a bodhisattva, although it should be stated that Forty Minutes of Hell remains strictly neutral on this course of action.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-54917693657143422892009-07-27T09:07:00.001-07:002009-07-27T10:15:41.763-07:00On Southeastern Massachusetts Conservative Talk RadioI've been doing a lot of driving lately, which is rather unfortunate. Driving on Cape Cod in the summer is rather arduous, as most days of the week you have to navigate through a ridiculous amount of traffic that is either heading down Cape for vacation or trying to get off to go back to work. Since I lack the skills necessary to function in everyday society, namely remembering what day it is, I tend to get stuck in this traffic on a regular basis. Full disclosure: I also lack the ability to spell the word necessary right in under three tries. It's my personal Sisyphean task.<br /><br />Furthermore, I never manage to bring a sufficiently varied amount of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">CDs</span> with me so after an hour or so in the car I usually end up hammering the seek button repeatedly until something tolerable or interesting pops on. We actually have a decent selection of radio stations here, such as <a href="http://www.mvyradio.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">WMVY</span></a> and NPR as well as stations in both Spanish and Portuguese. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">WBCN</span> (which is actually changing formats <a href="http://www.wikio.com/article/116106649">very soon</a>) is intermittently tolerable, even though they don't seem to realize that music was recorder <span style="font-style: italic;">both</span> before and after grunge. But, man cannot live on This American Life alone and once <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">WMVY</span> starts heading into what I like to call painfully white blues-rock I've been known to almost careen off the road reaching for the dial.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://user.pa.net/%7Eejjeff/KBOFredHonsbergerKDKAb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 192px;" src="http://user.pa.net/%7Eejjeff/KBOFredHonsbergerKDKAb.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />It is my to my everlasting joy, then, when I run across a local conservative talk show. This is actually more difficult than one would think, assuming one does not live in Massachusetts. Turns out this little universal-health-care-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">havin</span>' state can't actually support a full-time FM conservative talk station. Only one station comes in on my dial, and they seem to do everything from home improvement shows to Red <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Sox</span> games to screaming nutcases literally shouting about "those people" when talking about certain Harvard professors. But we're getting ahead of themselves.<br /><br />Everyone is familiar with the national icons of conservative talk radio, or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">contalkro</span>, is it will henceforth be known, such as Limbaugh, Beck and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Hannity</span>. The basic premise, as far as I can tell, is "white man talk crazy get people riled." It has been my experience that local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">contalkro</span> shock jocks have to think outside the box to draw attention to themselves over the national boys. This makes for an excellent listen. Even more so when you find yourself in an area that is not traditionally conservative. Giving these guys a smaller base from which to draw just amps up the insanity, like going from <span style="font-style: italic;">Aladdin Sane</span> David Bowie to "I'm going to share an apartment with Iggy Pop!" David Bowie. More fun for the whole family.<br /><br />Back when I lived in Pittsburgh, my roommates and I would watch a lot of <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Honsberger</span> Live!</span>, the TV version of local host Fred <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Honsberger's</span> show (that's his delightful mug up above). Basically, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Honsberger</span> was good bet for entertainment on a summer weekday for three under and unemployed people in their early twenties. If I recall correctly, one of us was unemployed entirely, one was financing his day-to-day existence by doing psychological studies at Carnegie Mellon university, which were only on weekdays, causing him to compare his existence on weekends as "like a wildebeest going through the lean season," and another had a job as a deliver driver that regularly left him at home or at the abode of Jason Jones waiting for a call. We had a twelve month lease that was paid over nine to ensure that students didn't run out in the summer, meaning that we were temporarily rent-free.<br /><br />See that? That's what we in the biz call "verisimilitude." Now back to the Hons...<br /><br />His job was basically to drum up outrage over local and state topics, something that frequently left him short of topic points. Since he couldn't regularly rant about Hillary Clinton (though lord, did he try, even placing a framed picture of here with a line through it so it was always visible just over his right shoulder), he would regularly concoct inane and poorly thought out arguments, sometimes seemingly on the spot. The experience sometimes mirrored the TA in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxMS59sxwxs">this</a> classic Mr. Show sketch. Here was where having the show on TV came in handy: you got to see the expression on his face as he stared at the camera while he tried to build up outrage over the <a href="http://www.redorbit.com/news/science/132588/bubba_the_giant_lobster_dies_at_zoo/index.html">existence of a twenty-two pound lobster</a>. Sadly, I couldn't find a clip or any other references to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Honsberger's</span> angry demands to be fed the lobster and exultation after it's demise. Let's recap: a man was paid to rant for several days about his disgust that a freakishly large lobster was being displayed in an aquarium instead of being cooked and eaten. Shortly before <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Bubba</span> died, he was even offering hundreds of dollars for the poor bastard so he could eat it. And there was not a trace of irony or self-awareness to be found.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://shockmountain.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/mountaingoats0089.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 625px; height: 416px;" src="http://shockmountain.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/mountaingoats0089.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I bring this up because the local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">contalkro</span> blows <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Honsberger</span> out of the proverbial water. Despite his burgeoning lunacy, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Honsberger</span> at least realized that the thing hanging in front of his face was called a microphone and served the purpose of recording his voice so that it could be broadcast across the land. He did not feel the need to shout at the top of his lungs for a full hour. Listening to someone shout things about Obama, fascism and socialism as loud as they can while a caller, <span style="font-style: italic;">who is actively agreeing with them</span>, tries to out-shout them is a rare moment of divine unintentional comedy in our increasingly post-modern and irony-laden world. I've started toying around with the idea of somehow transmogrifying this into a team Halloween costume, but I have the feeling the joke would wear thin after a few hours.<br /><br />Tragically (or perhaps not), it's the very environment that produces this lunacy that limits it to no more than just a few hours a week. There aren't enough people to support more than one or two of these shows, but the scarcity of air time causes those that do to throttle up their particular brand of crazy to compensate for it's brevity. I can't seem to nail down when the shows come on, or even who hosts them because Cape Cod gets either Providence or Boston stations depending on where you are, what time of day it is and possibly even the dew point. I'm saying they're unreliable. Have we made that clear? Let's move on.<br /><br />This makes actually stumbling across one of these shows even more rewarding. Remember back when <span style="font-style: italic;">Family Guy</span> was on it's first run on Fox and how the network would jerk around their time slot like a blind hooker with an inner-ear infection? I think I enjoyed watching those episodes more because each one came like a total surprise. Now I feel that way about New England <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">contalkro</span>. To paraphrase everyone who has even had cancer ever, every time I find one of these shows accidentally is a gift.<br /><br />In other news, you can now watch every episode of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">TJ</span> Hooker on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">youtube</span>. You're not going to, because you don't want to, but you can.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-20057102611111728542009-07-24T09:07:00.000-07:002009-07-26T11:34:42.457-07:00On Cockfighting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thebluerepublic.com/Gallery/albums/album02/gonzo_chicken.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 335px; height: 500px;" src="http://thebluerepublic.com/Gallery/albums/album02/gonzo_chicken.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />As is contractually obliged by the Terms of Service of this here website, I am required to state in the opening sentence of this post (notwithstanding a brief exclamation, such as "Oh!" or "Yikes!") that it has been quite some time since I wrote on this blog. I've always found this to be a somewhat irritating and definitely pointless exercise, as it assumes that the person who is reading whatever you wrote is both incapable of scrolling down and has no long term memory. The lawyers have been appeased, so let's move on.<br /><br />Since my last post, I've left Korea, hoboed from Mexico down to Peru, flew to Texas and then continued hoboing all the way to Massachusetts, where I have been trapped in a sort of sensory deprivation chamber (called "Cape Cod" by it's surly and enigmatic inhabitants) that has led me to start blogging again to avoid a complete crushing of the soul and mind. Seriously, people: today I purchased <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bone-One-Jeff-Smith/dp/188896314X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248451990&sr=8-2">this</a>. I have no idea why. I've never read any of it or known anyone who has. I don't own any comics or graphic novels and can't fully explain why the first one that I've chosen to buy is a 1300 page monster. I already have about six thousand pages of books to read because every time I go past the local Salvation Army I go in and buy six books. Honestly, I don't know who these people are who are giving these books away. On the last run, I picked up books by Don DeLillo, Phillip Roth and Thomas Pynchon. Apparently there's a refuge of postmodern literature professors hiding out in the woods behind my house. But I digress.<br /><br />I've decided to use this space as a sort of mental clearinghouse for the types of things that I think incessantly on while locked up here. It's entirely possible this could continue once I go back to Guatemala in a little under a month, but let's not hold our collective breaths, because holding our breath for that long would be stupid and pointless and would undoubtedly kill us all. And who wants that?<br /><br />Answer: <a href="http://timecube.com/">this man</a>, most likely.<br /><br />I'm sorry. That was an absolutely shameless and inappropriate way to shoehorn my favorite website into this post.*<br /><br />Have you ever heard of a journalist "burying the lede?" If not, then rest assured that you're witnessing a right powerful example right now.<br /><br />I've been reading a lot of sports news lately for several reasons. One is that I've started getting the New York Times and their sports coverage is paltry at best. Two is that I spend a lot of time dicking around on the internet when I'm supposed to be studying for the GREs. Full disclosure: that's only two reasons, making the earlier claim of "several" somewhat inaccurate. Would you rather have me list a litany (alliteration!) of superfluous and half-baked reasons or would you rather have an already overlong, verbose story continue on unnecessarily longer? Don't answer that, I finished typing this a long time ago and I can't hear you. Did your parents drop you on your head as a child? Ridiculous.<br /><br />I got distracted there for a minute and completely forgot how I was going to segway this into my actual topic, and honestly, this was the best I could come up with. I might be a little rusty.<br /><br />Back in April, I rolled into a little place called <a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Banos">Banos</a> (note: I can't seem to figure out how to type non-English letters) in Ecuador. It's basically a small resort town about four hours southwest of Quito that is one of the most popular vacation spots for Ecuadorians; mainly for it's natural hot springs. Being set in a temperate place that looks like <a href="http://www.blork.org/mondaymorning/images/ecuador-mountain-waterfall2.jpg">this</a> doesn't hurt either. At this point in my trip, I had completely stopped planning more than twenty-four hours in advance and got on the bus in Quito because I had a half-baked plan to wander into the jungle to meet a friend of a friend, whom I had never spoken to, and hang out with a jungle tribe for a week. Needless to say, this plan fell apart almost immediately after it was hatched. I somehow arrived and managed to find a decent place to sleep even though I was landing right smack-dab in the middle of Holy Week in a country that takes their Catholicism <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIdQeyWebPN7HvQyxTK3BjuQrynOq_rC0BhnG8KpsAeaRiwEAOHtDPdZyLGP2F0FDagqqBHOmJ-lbivdk3wGome7q3haN0H8FQi_l77hWuW0rA8X3CklA7TQNZdBxBwEJHiYqcSRSZ1Q/s400/101_0074.jpg">a wee bit more serious than most</a>. That said, pretty much everyone in Banos appeared to be celebrating Holy Week by getting very, very shitty. And by going to cockfights.<br /><br />Not only is cockfighting legal and encouraged in Ecuador, it's also practically the national sport. To quote Lonely Planet, "a town ain't a town without a cockfighting ring," which, if I ever found some sort of Jonestown-type utopian settlement, will be the official town motto. Ecuadorian cockfights are a weekly, bring-the-kids type affair. The fact that we were sitting in a concrete building watching pairs of roosters try to kill each other for sport on Easter Sunday seemed to be of little concern to anyone in attendance. The mystery liquor that was being served at the arena bar may have had something to do with this.<br /><br />But first, the building itself. Located several kilometers outside of town and down a shady alley behind a gas station stood the square, whitewashed building festively adorned with a painting of a pair of roosters facing off in boxing gloves. In actuality, the roosters are outfitted with sharp razors on their feet, but that failed to make the painting any less awesome.<br /><br />The fact that cockfighting is legal here made the building's dodgy location a little mysterious. Why was it way out of town and not visible from the road? It makes the experience of entering the building a little anticlimactic, as those expecting a horde of chain-smoking Asian men yelling and waving thick wads of bills and shouting and generally carrying on (read: me) are disappointed to find something slightly more sane.<br /><br />Each bout is preceded by all the interested parties crowding around a ping-pong table in the corner and thoroughly inspecting the two pugilist birds for an ungodly amount of time. The inspections, in the early parts of the night, can take up to thirty minutes. It should be noted that the length of these inspections tends to decrease as the night goes on, people get a little more mystery corn juice into them and a general attitude of "fuck it! Gamblin' time!" pervades the air. Regrettably, bets are placed in an entirely civil and sense-making manner that is absolutely nothing like <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Bloodsport </span>or <span style="font-style: italic;">The Deer Hunter</span>.<br /><br />The fights themselves are not actually to the death, or more accurately, are not <span style="font-style: italic;">meant</span> to be to the death, but if a rooster happens to die, then so be it. There are actually rounds, between which the owners tend to give little rooster-themed pep talks ("That rooster is fucking your hens! HE IS FUCKING YOUR HENS!") and do really creepy things like blowing on the rooster's head bloody head and sometimes even putting it into their mouths. I dimly recall that UFC lacked rounds until they started reforming in the mid-to-late-nineties, although I can't seem to find evidence of this. I plan to bring this up to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ultimate_Fighting_Championship#cite_note-Slate-4">John McCain</a> if I ever meet him, probably because I can think of nothing less appropriate. Anyways, you should probably read closely, because this next piece of information will come in very useful if you're ever turned into a rooster and forced to fight another one.<br /><br />There are two forms of rooster attack. One is the old-fashioned head peck, used like kick-boxers use punches - not really to kill, but just to wear down their opponent. As anyone who has ever cracked their forehead on something knows, scalp injuries bleed like hell, and be assured that for poultry it's no different. Feel free to go back and read the second sentence of the previous paragraph now. The other is to leap into the air and attempt to pin the other rooster's head to the ground. This is where the aforementioned razor blades on the feet come in. Repeat until one is dead or the owner decides he's had enough, which I suspect has something to do with salvaging that tasty, tasty cock meat.<br /><br />I am absolutely positive the previous sentence was the worst thing that I have ever written. On the other hand, I think I deserve some sort of medal, or perhaps a collection of fancy cheeses, for making it that far without a single dick joke.<br /><br />Actually, this is how roosters behave outside the ring. They just manage to do it without seriously hurting each other. While puzzling over this quandary, I remembered a comment a friend, whom I trust implicitly in all matters sub-legal and ethically questionable, made while telling a story about his Thai drug dealer and the mini-bike said drug dealer had bought for his Buddhist shrine. I believe the story consisted mainly of the dealer relating the quality and price of the bike along with the relative difficulty of getting it up the stairs. This dealer also trained roosters, and the admission of this fact led to the following exchange:<br /><br />Fellow Listener: How exactly does one train a cock to fight?<br />Storyteller: I believe they torture the shit out of them. Anyway ... (Continues to extol the virtues of various opiates)<br /><br />All this goes on in a pit surrounded by people yelling helpful comments such as "Come on, red!" and "Come on, white!" as well as the occasional drunk gringo getting a little too into it over the two dollars they bet on the fight. The crowd ranges from those who one would suspect would frequent cockfights, namely grungy men of indeterminate age who seem to know way, <span style="font-style: italic;">way</span> to much about rooster physiology (picture the main character from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Sun Also Rises</span> as a mustachioed cockfight enthusiast and you have the picture) to entire families from two to 102.<br /><br />Admittedly, our crowd was a little light, it being Easter and whatnot. The final match of the night, which was the first one that I finally got around to betting on, actually ended in a tie. Someday, when I compile the list of most amazing things I've seen, I don't see how that is not going to crack the top five. It's like flipping a coin and having it land on the edge.<br /><br />Here's the point where I'm probably supposed to take some sort of moral stand on everything I've just described or perhaps use it to describe some sort of greater human truth. On the other hand, I have two rules in life, one of which is to not get worked up over or read too much into events that take place outside small towns in Ecuador. I'll sum this up by asking the <a href="http://lord.xopl.com/ulpage3a/8-ball.html">online Magic 8-Ball</a> a series of questions<br /><br />Will I ever train roosters to fight as a living or hobby?<br />- "My sources say yes."<br /><br />Is cockfighting inhumane?<br />- "No."<br /><br />Is a town really a town if it lacks a cockfighting ring?<br />- "Don't count on it."<br /><br />Will that fact that I left the ring without paying for my Arroz Con Pollo ever come back to haunt me?<br />- "Concentrate and ask again."<br /><br />Since I don't like taking orders from inanimate objects, and much less a simulacra of an inanimate object, here we must part. I promise further entries will be much shorter than this.<br /><br />*<span style="font-style: italic;"> Author is not actually sorry.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-73918861412588708182009-02-04T12:38:00.001-08:002009-02-04T12:39:15.328-08:00Join Zipcar!<a href="http://www.zipcar.com/apply?promo_code=AGTRVTDH" target="_blank"><a href="http://www.zipcar.com/apply?promo_code=AGTRVTDH" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.zipcar.com/images/referral/sticker-vroom-usd-50.gif" border="0" alt="Join Zipcar and get $50 in free driving!" /></a></a>Quinn Callahanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18016538717347249981noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-55683811457480906202008-12-22T17:41:00.000-08:002009-01-16T05:14:29.973-08:00Just When You Think You're Out... Now with alt-texty goodness!So I figured I was done ranting about Korea, and I am after a manner of speaking. This is a rant in Korea's favor. I'm watching motherfucking Anthony Bourdain and I have to write this or punch out the TV and then go to the hospital to have my had stitched up compliments of Lutron, who has apparently not canceled my Blue Cross. Class act, those guys.<br /><br />So I've noticed some common elements in every travel related article/show/blog about Korea. They are as follows.<br /><br />1. Everything in Korea is wonderful.<br /><br />2. Kimchi is the spiciest thing on the planet. It is so goddamn <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">fucking</span> spicy that anyone who eats it instantly goes blind. And then dies. From the fucking spiciness. Also everyone in Korea eats it all the time.<br /><br />3. Seoul, the capital city and entirety of the country, is positioned on the southernmost tip of Korea. The only place to go from Seoul is north, to the DMZ, at which it is appropriate to act as though this is the first time you were ever made aware of the Korean War.<br /><br />4. Soju is this wild, wonderful, delicious nectar! See: 1.<br />4. a)Also there is nothing else to drink yourself drunk on.<br /><br />5. Korean restaurants are all as modern and plastic as a McDonald's.<br /><br />6. Korean cuisine consists wholly of kimchi, bulgogi, fish-head soup, BBQ and one <span style="font-weight: bold;">AND ONLY ONE</span> other from this list: silkworm bugs, nasty chicken pieces, or bibimbap.<br /><br />7. There are Norae-bangs, (Karaoke joints) and DVD-bangs, (DVD joints) all over the place. There are no other types of bangs. There are also many other things to do.<br /><br />8. People drink a lot! Sometimes in these, like, tents.<br /><br />There's nothing wrong with broadening horizons, and if you're only going to be there for a couple of weeks, Korea is a cool place to check out. But every one of the things you see in a show about Korea is bullshit, as detailed in the following point-by-point rebuttal.<br /><br />1. This isn't a Korea thing, all travel shows act like this with all countries. No one would make a show about a place just to bitch about it, and no one would watch if they did, but am I the only one who hears condescension in the obsequiousness that get lavished on any place featured in a travel show? Everyplace is perfect, everyone is wonderful, etc. etc. I dunno about anyone else, but this is how I speak to children. Yea our culture is materialistic and shallow, but people are, on the average, the same anywhere you go. Half the places I've been in have had a homegrown "Dancing with the Stars" playing on the dive bar TV. Every culture is extremely shitty in at least one way. (When in doubt: Statis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA4D71Yju-i6td9d9r3hS1wGlagxy_5h1pe9uVLqIuKvLpc_ElYehStlph3UQt_vR-39lSjSvxivcou4msMpriVjeI5zuHXhfQOW8rrN5S5-dS1dbfMF_O6AhyWql9baITW7nVgN2o-D4j/s1600-h/image-11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA4D71Yju-i6td9d9r3hS1wGlagxy_5h1pe9uVLqIuKvLpc_ElYehStlph3UQt_vR-39lSjSvxivcou4msMpriVjeI5zuHXhfQOW8rrN5S5-dS1dbfMF_O6AhyWql9baITW7nVgN2o-D4j/s320/image-11.jpg" alt="What has two thumbs and is NOT the most racist thing on this page? Me! For once." id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289027861634503282" title="What has two thumbs and is NOT the most racist thing on this page? Me! For once." border="0" /></a>tically speaking, your culture's police force will probably truncheon the living shit out of you for making the above point.) Yet all travel writing acts as though every other culture in the world is populated entirely by impossibly generous, wonderful, hedonistic holy men/women. Find me one Lonely Planet article about a culture that does not contain three of the following words: (Hospitality, Spiritual, Generous, Ancient, Smiles, Magical, Lust-for-life, Laid-Back, Know-How-To-Party and if we've recently bombed the shit out of them: Hope-For-The-Future). People are the same in Korea as they are in America, Russia, Haiti, anywhere you could name. A little dopey, often douches, far from perfect, but on the balance ok. Yea Americans suck, and yea you'll meet cool people if you look. The same holds for everyone - it's called the human condition. I understand feeling like we need to apologize via fawning compliments to the rest of the world, becuase of colonialism and mercantilism and Cromwell and and slavery. But don't forget: that was WASPs, and everyone hates them anyway. Traveling is fun, but for god's sake, you should be allowed to comment on the fact that you can smell shit everywhere in Korea and not be a racist.<br /><br />2. I read an article by Brooks or Friedman or Rich or some Op-Ed dick-at-large* about how Engrish would change the way "proper" English is spoken, because since more people worldwide speak it badly than speak it well, badly would become the new well (Those of us who taught English know it would become the new finethankyouandyou). I imagine an ideawhore like that was the first white guy to sit down to a plate of kimchi. "Very spicy" they told him. After a bite he thought "...Well, it certainly is <span style="font-style: italic;">seasoned</span>, I guess that's what they mean, but who the hell am I to correct someone on the use of my own language?" And so the myth was born. And of course, since we must never, ever, ever, never <span style="font-weight: bold;">ever, </span>nerver, never imply a foreigner is incorrect (see #1), it has now become unassailable. Kimchi isn't bad, but no one has ever had to chase it with bleu cheese to get the burn out of their mouth. And yea, Koreans eat Kimchi with everything, we eat bread with on or in almost everything. It's the kind of boring fact you mention once and move on to the interesting stuff, which never happens because:<br /><br />3. Fuck Seoul and every pampered, damp-assed, entitled wey-gook in it. Don't get me wrong, it's a wonderful town in the same way as New York is. And Seoul weygooks are all whiny, solipsistic posers in the same way lifelong Manhattanites are. Here's the thing about Seoul. It's not fucking Korea. Korea is getting pointed at in the streets like you're John Fucking Merrick. Korea is asking "uh-dee CGbuhwee" and getting "No English" back. Korea is eating the same 6 foods every day until dog becomes a viable alternative.<img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzFSg_NFLRmGnQ3xzmltQf-ZXQGfAyNq25NZBqQjHQWtS13TrpVBpMvT9W-JDmEmNVzLJQLxIJnvUDu6juzQ9NqH4rjbcbdOEJewfeavWrQKiJb9UpXRio5FmEgoxaWB6bTB0_DkphjnDX/s320/dogpurse.jpg" alt="This is what everyone in Seoul looks like to everyone who's not" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288975800442153202" title="This is what everyone in Seoul looks like to everyone who's not" border="0" /> Korea is fleeing to every nook and corner of the country on the weekend until the true nature of you confinement becomes despairingly clear. Korea is not arguing with a Nigerian over the price of a belt buckle. Korea is not not learning Korean "Because, like, everyone speaks English already, you know?" Korea is not never wondering if you've wandered into a mob bar and should wander back out again, nowish. Korea is not trying to decide between burritos, gyros, or Indian buffet. And I'm not bitching about my experience. Being a conspicuous, befuddled, completely alone foreigner for a year is how I managed to get through Russia sans getting stomped without knowing how to say even "hello" until I got off the plane. It would be nice to show how the other half lives. (Literally, as 23 of 48 million live rural, or as it's known in Korea: lruulrlrlurl) And seriously, Yes-the-DMZ-is-the-main-attraction, Yes-the-Korean-War-was-horrible. But standing on the line, pinching your face up and saying "This really makes you think you know? Really drives it home." should be punishable by bludgeoning with a fucking history book.<br /><br />4. Soju is Satan's taint-sweat. It's gasoline in a bottle. Scratch that, it's watered-down, sugared-down gasoline in a bottle. It's an oily rag from becoming a molotov cocktail, and firebombing something with it is much more responsible behavior than actually drinking it. Tony-B couldn't say enough good stuff about it when the cameras were rolling (#1 again), but the whole next day of shooting, until the evening, could not <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">shut up</span> about how hungover he was. He wears a thumb ring and is sarcastic and makes constant mention of his bad-boy status, so I suppose he's something of a bad-boy, which means the average viewer chalks his ass-dragging up to his incessantly referenced hard partying lifestyle, but those of us who've had it know. Drinking Soju doesn't so much get you drunk as give you a minor stroke, though it can be hard to tell the difference until the next morning<br />4. a) God-Dammnit someone drink Baekseju on camera! That shit is great, just as strong, and it's not made by going to CVS and rebottling the rubbing alcohol. Now I know the idea is to "educate" people, but is anyone really educated by talking about kimchi and soju? If they don't know about it already, fuck 'em. It's time to cut the Sarah Palin's of the world loose. If they want to know what were talking about let 'em read a fucking book for once.<br /><br />5. The Korean restauratuer's superstition, somewhat like that of baseball players on a streak, is that renovation is bad luck. A traditional Korean restaurant is wooden, chairless, and inexplicably always empty. If the toilet isn't a hole in the ground in an unattached building out back, you aren't eating in a Korean restaurant.<br /><br />6. See 4.a) Fuck's sake people, let's start assuming some accumulated knowledge on the part of our audience. Anyone who hasn't at least heard of Kimchi, Bibimbap and Korean barbecue is probably not going to be watching a food show about Korea in the first place, n'est-ce pas? Koreans do have some wierd cool food, I bitched about the sameness of the cuisine because the good stuff is about five times as expensive as the regular shit. There are restaurants dedicated to tofu, octopus, deep sea monster fish, hell, Makkali places! Twelve bucks gets food and rice wine enough to make me feel good about having come to Korea. The food is never the same, i.e. Kim's Kitchen for those of you who've been there, and is always crazy. Piles of spiced up tofu, whole fried fish, pancakes PANCAKES holy shit the pancakes I almost forgot! Korean pancakes are awesome, and I have yet to see anyone eat one on TV. They're all too busy explaining to the putative 3-year-old mongoloids who are the audience of all television what kimchi is and how spicy it is.<br /><br />7. Ok. There are Norae Bangs. There are DVD bangs. If you teleport when you get drunk as I do, you might find yourself in a video arcade or holding a replica AK, mid burst, in a shooting gallery. You probably won't though, because there are three things to do in Korea. Sing in a norae bang, screw your girlfriend in a DVD bang, and waste your whole life in a PC bang. I would love to meet the cinematographer on this show because I have not seen the word "PC" in any "Yep, we're in Asia alrighty" shot of buildings covered in the Korean moon man letters. There is a PC bang for every man woman and child in Korea and they are always packed. If you're good at mental math you've already gotten the joke, I'll wait here while the rest of you go back. Of course, that's only a slight exaggeration. Koreans love PC bangs as much as they love Kimchi, if not more, but you will never see the inside of one on TV because ten grown men sitting silently and chain smoking while they play WOW next to eight hyperactive kids on the same computer screaming about who gets to play the mariocart ripoff next is the most depressing thing on the planet earth, and several other planets besides.<br /><br />8. This has more to do with <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/07/20/travel/20CHOICE.html?scp=2&sq=korea%20seoul&st=cse">this</a> article than the show but oooooooohhhhhh <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">GANG</span>! Am I getting sick of this kind of shit! This is not travel writing. This is jerking off about how well traveled you are and how many wild places you've checked off your big list without bothering to stay long enough to learn anything about the place. This cumdumpster rattles on and on about shit that anyone who's visited Korea has already seen about ten minutes after getting off the plane, interspersed with free advertising for his dickhole friends' blogs. In the New York Fucking Times! These ballbags only get away with it because essentially no one's ever been to Korea. The equivalent would be "My buddy at www.newyorkfelcherabouttown.com invited me down to New York City, or as they call it: 'New York.' Imagine my surpise when we stop to eat - right there in the street! My friend bought me a "dirty water dog" from a man on a cart! I'm so fucking well traveled! Do I win? Have I won yet? Do I have more cred than anyone else?" Jump in the Han and, if your skin doesn't melt off first, drown. Anyone who's spent a year in Korea could pull a more interesting, funny, insightful article out of their ass in about five minutes on any random hungover morning than what passes for travel writing. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> I </span>could probably do it, if I bothered to edit and didn't express myself mostly through harangues.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcnZa4CCU1jswCsuZCRjsS8k6zOui6oila6AnJJixnDoxP_4lTTWQEyTP9tS4cEeWVub7EgW8Epl-QVakO6_XtqoI2Q5TKiNIxi2mVTxJwLew59FGuL9VV2X_B9Xk-dKODpfANTXa53Bm/s1600-h/200px-thomas_friedman_2005_4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcnZa4CCU1jswCsuZCRjsS8k6zOui6oila6AnJJixnDoxP_4lTTWQEyTP9tS4cEeWVub7EgW8Epl-QVakO6_XtqoI2Q5TKiNIxi2mVTxJwLew59FGuL9VV2X_B9Xk-dKODpfANTXa53Bm/s320/200px-thomas_friedman_2005_4.jpg" alt="Fun Fact, The Mustache is the face's " id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288970899859573186" title="Fun Fact, The Mustache is the face's ''middle brow''" border="0" /></a><br />*This has nothing to do with the main topic, but I had to get it off my chest: can we round up all these people in some type of camp, or if that the word "camp" offends, jail? At what point do people lend you their credulity so that any sort of nonsense, ass-backward bullshit idea you come up with is taken as "outside the box thinking." These men are charlatans and assholes. Brooks simplifies everything to absurdity, Friedman makes up contrarian bullshit, and Rich is just an ass. Any "big" idea that attempts to lay out the forces shaping our world politically environmentally or economically in a simple enough format to become a bestseller and get your mustache on television is by definition pseudo-scientific middlebrow horseshit. The world isn't easy folks, and this half-wit doesn't have any answers.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-68905901762964140832008-12-12T14:56:00.000-08:002009-01-22T14:06:25.635-08:00Back to NormalcySince none of the hijackers of this site are in Korea anymore, I decree this blog will go towards the mainstream of blogdom, i.e. ripped off content from other, funnier sites, in lieu of anything original and or interesting.<br /><br />I've been enjoying these too much to not mention them, and I hope they continue long after the inauguration:<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/bush_tumbles_wildly_down"><br /></a></span><h2 style="font-weight: normal;" class="title"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/bush_tumbles_wildly_down"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bush Tumbles Wildly Down Washington Monument Staircase</span></a></span></h2><h2 style="font-weight: normal;" class="title"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/crocodile_bites_off_bushs"><span class="Apple-style-span">Crocodile Bites Off Bush's Arm</span></a></span></h2> <!--CONTENT--> <h2 style="font-weight: normal;" class="title"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/bush_passes_three_pound"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bush Passes Three-Pound Kidney Stone</span></a></span></h2><h2 style="font-weight: normal;" class="title"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/bush_dragged_behind"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bush Dragged Behind Presidential Motorcade For 26 Blocks</span></a></span></h2><h2 style="font-weight: normal;" class="title"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/bushs_eyelid_accidentally"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bush's Eyelid Accidentally Nailed To Wall</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></a></span></h2><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/single_engine_cessna"><span class="Apple-style-span">Single-Engine Cessna Crashes Into Bush</span></a><br /><br /></span><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news/americas_first_gay_president"><span class="Apple-style-span">America's First Gay President Concludes Historic Second Term</span></a></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/spider_eggs_hatch_in_bushs">Spider Eggs Hatch In Bush's Brain</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/bush_dies_peacefully_in_his">Bush Dies Peacefully In His Sleep</a></span><br /></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Nothing quite like mean-spirited kicking a of man after he's been down for almost two years. The last decade wasn't a total waste, we'll always have Bush to kick around...</span></span><br /><br /></span></div>Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-32289698816340876802008-12-02T12:11:00.000-08:002010-12-06T21:53:37.499-08:00Revenge is a dish best served after you've practically forgotten all about it.Oh yea, my boss back in Korea was a shitbag. Almost slipped my mind. I've intended to put some mean stuff up on the internet about those dickholes for a while now, and I procrastinated so long I almost forgave and forgot. What a nightmare that would have been. Anyway this isn't going to be funny, it's just so that if anyone is thinking about going to work there and googles "<a href="http://iksanymca.or.kr/">Iksan YMCA</a>" like I did lo those many months ago they'll actually have something to go on. The place isn't on black- or graylists because only because no one updates those anymore, so this is a public service, sort of like how we raised the word dykepile to prominance in google searches.<br /><br />First off. Iksan is a small, economically depressed town in North Jeolla which is frankly a bit of a backwater province. This has a lot to do with Koreans' own internal prejudices about the place and its people instead of something intrinsically wrong with the folks, but just be aware that if your recruiter tells you that it is a bustling city of 300 thousand people a short trip from Seoul, it is not. All true Korean cities are enormous, if there aren't over a million people, it's really more of a town than a city. It's also 2 hours and a half from Seoul. By bullet train (KTX). It is reasonably close to Jeonju, a fun town, and as one of the few foreigners in Iksan, you'll be given a lot of license to act like an ass with no consequences, as the people won't know what to do with you. It was also originally named Iri, but was consolidated with a bunch of tiny towns and villages and renamed. The population of the city proper is around 150 thousand.<br /><br />Secondly. The nominal head of the YMCA, Mr. Lee, is a kleptomaniac in the clinical sense of the word. He can't be near someone else's money without taking a piece for himself. He tried every scam in the book, amateurishly, and almost landed himself and his wife in prison over it. However, since Koreans hate causing embarassment, and nothing is more embarassing than being called a thief and sent to jail, the authorities seem content to give him a do-over every time he sends his round-eyes packing and brings in a fresh set.<br /><br />He started by deducting everyone double the official income tax rate, and pocketing the difference, essentially skimming 3% off everyone's paycheck. Since Iksan is a small pond and he is a relatively big fish, we could get no help from the local tax office, and eventually had to take our case to Seoul. When he got a call from the national tax office, he began lying like crazy, telling them a) he wasn't deducting extra from our paycheck, although everyone had the stubs to prove he was, b) claimed he had already given the money back, which obviously was seen through in about the amount of time it took the words to get out of his mouth, and that c) he was going to give the money back, which he did, after telling me I was fired for calling the authorities on him. I told him to Ja-Di-Ga, in so many words, and that was that.<br /><br />Next he had us work three weeks of unpaid overtime, to the tune of four thousand dollars a head. Negotiations over THAT took us until the end of the contract. Long story short, the teachers had neither the ability nor the spine to present a unified front, half the teachers gave up and got nothing, half of the teachers caved for two hundred dollars, and I was able to shake him down for a cool nine hundred for myself.<br /><br />After that we learned that he wasn't paying into our pension fund. The first three months he paid in nothing, and following that, he paid in whatever he felt like, for whoever he felt like. Some people would have nothing put into their account one month, the full amount the next, and a fraction the month after, while others who were making the same wage had completely different contributions each month. Despite the brazenness with which he did this, we had to bring it to the attention of the Pension office that our salaries weren't going through perfectly normal wild fluctuations from two thousand to zero every month, we were being embezzeled upon (from? at? towards?) This is what nearly landed him in jail. Funny thing is, he did the same thing to a pair of teachers the year before, except one was ethnically Korean, spoke the language, knew the customs, and was as sick of his shit as I was. She and her boyfriend got their money paid them plus damages, all we got was our own money back.<br /><br />Finally, he announced that through an unforseen scheduling conflict every Western teacher noticed the first week, we'd have to go home a few weeks early. We all needed a change so we happily accepted, but what the YMCA didn't tell us is that Korean law only obliges an employer to pay you your year end bonus if you work 365 days exactly. The plan was to "pro-rate" our bonuses, but word leaked before zero hour, and with two thousand dollars on the line most of the teachers were able to locate their balls. we got our money and got out.<br /><br />Third. No one is interested in helping you. As you may have noticed, none of the local authorities have the wits or the will to stop him, and you have to be doing their job as well as yours. If you are a weygook, you aren't really a person. He had to pay a fine for stealing from a teacher who looked and spoke like a Korean, but he was only told to give the money back when he took from us. The Korean liasons at the YMCA are terrified of losing their job, which in that country, and especially that area is a big deal, and Koreans are <span style="font-weight: bold;">very</span> averse to conflict. This means that the liasons will not pass along "troubling" messages to the boss, lie to your face about the YMCA's aims and actions, and even in one instance, spy on you to curry favor with management, even if they are also being stolen from. As for the fellow teachers,<br /><br />Fourth. You will be working with the biggest bunch of twats, lunkheads and deviants you've ever seen in one place. Anyone can do this job, and anyone does, including some nasty wierdos. One of the teachers found himself in some serious trouble when he was caught teaching adjectives by rating the girls looks and showing them pictures of bikini models. The fourteen year old girls. He followed that up by cursing out a schoolboy, which is a <span style="font-weight: bold;">HUGE</span> deal in an Asian, respect based country. He'd been giving everyone the heebie-jeebies for while, and as this happened about two weeks into the first time we'd been actually monitored the questions of what he did for an entire semester when no one was looking were even more uncomfortable. To wrap the story up, he was not fired because it would have been inconvenient to fill his place on short notice.<br /><br />The Iksan YMCA: Perverts, kleptos, and doormats. I'm sure it's similar in many schools in South Korea, and anywhere you go you'd be rolling the dice on ending up in a situation just like this one, but this one is a sure bet for bullshit and headaches.<br /><br />The lessons to take away form this is: Mr. Lee will steal from you any way he can. When you ask for your money back he will plead poverty, play childish interpretation games with your contract or out and out threaten you with firing. No one is interested in coming to your aid, and since I imagine that we will soon be the internet's premier search result for both "Iksan" and 6 girl prepubescent dykepile anecdotes, you can bet your ass you'll have to deal with more creeps than we did. Good Luck!Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-23148661213606745022008-11-02T17:47:00.001-08:002008-12-04T09:28:16.346-08:00A brief primer in Capitalism, for my dear friends, the RussiansRussians are the friendliest most outgoing people, in well, Russia. At least top 5 most. Anyway, that all changes when they sit across a counter from you. There's only one person in the world more infuriatingly bad at her job, and she works the Japan Railpass counter at the Busan international Ferry Terminal, but the poor girl can't help herself, she was kicked in the head by a horse. Number one cause of death in Korea, getting kicked in the head by horses. The Silent Killer. Anyway, you get the feeling that the Russians are as bad as they are because they hate you, specifically. The inability to get anything you need from them is only made worse, or better depending on your point of view, by the fact that they look so damn miserable that there's nothing you could do, in their view, to make their shitty life any worse. Which means you can't take vengance, because it's already been taken, by life. Kindof a "Do you see the glass half full or empty?" kinda thing. I personally see a young lady, but if I squint just right, it's a candlestick. But one reason its so hard to get anything from them is they seem to have literally forgotten how to buy and sell things in their seventy year experiment with the kind of shitty ideas people grow out of sophomore year of College. I've decided to write this up in the interest of public education.<br /><br />Rule #1 If you don't have what I asked for, you don't have what I want.<br />Pretty elementary. If someone shows up at your kiosk on an island in the Neva river not sure whether I'll die of windburn or frostbite first, and asks for a bunch of fried pierogies, a cold apple Danish is not an acceptable substitute. Nor is a precooked, prepackaged hamburger you pulled out of the fridge. Tangent: Precooked, prepackaged hamburgers are unacceptable substitutes for everything, including death by starvation. If your job is selling shit, and you didn't bring shit to sell, you aren't doing your job. When I don't want to to my job I call in sick and play XBox all day, but different strokes.<br /><br />Rule #2 Money, like friends, comes in all shapes, sizes and colors.<br />One of the many ways money is just as good as friends. The only people who get away with demanding exact change are busdrivers. And not always either (see: Korea and Estonia, thanks guys) When you sell something for the equivalent of 87 cents, people will probably pay with a $1.00 bill. Bringing nothing but fives is a very bad idea. Not only will you not be able to sell any of your food, but when you get all pissed off because you've already heated it, and now who the fuck is going to pay, the foreigner will laugh in your face. Incidentally, the Russian word for Ajumma is Babushka. I don't know why certain countries turn women into retarded, hateful quasi humans by 50 but there it is.<br /><br />Rule #3 Watch Swingers. Sometimes you gotta give 'em the shit for free.<br />Yea, capitalism is about buying and selling, but for God's sake, certain things in life you don't charge for. Air's free, and so are misdemeanor crimes like jaywalking and public drunkenness, as long as enough people are committing them along with you. So where the fuck to you people get off charging for bathrooms? I'm not just talking to Russia here. All you Euros* are on the hook for this one. Dickens was like 200 years ago, its time to get serious. If you have to burn 25% of the world's gas to pull your car over whenever you need to piss and not have to dig around for change, then so be it. That's civilization. At least no one over here's dad puts food on the table ten piss-cents at a time. You even have to pay if if you're already paying for something else, like in a restaurant or train station. The absolute worst was this train station in Poland. There was actually a list of different prices for the "services" they provide, from the sink you can shave in, to the sink you can wash up in, to the sink you can brush your teeth in, to the toilet, oh fuck it you get the idea. They also had one roll of toilet paper, at the front desk. So not only are you put in the position of saying to a stranger "I need to poop please," you actually have to give him/her a rough estimate of how messy it's going to be. I just yanked at that thing like I was gonna play Mummy in there. Fuck him.<br /><br />*In the interest of fairness the country with the best handle on this is Korea. In America, you often have to be a patron or sneaky to use a bathroom in a business. In Korea, you can walk in anywhere at all like literally just wander into a bank, and there's a public restroom where no one hassles you. It's pretty cool.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-17540334437047489392008-08-14T20:43:00.000-07:002008-12-04T12:15:45.688-08:00Laugh at ME will you?<div>This is in case I don't have your email address, but you talk to people who do, and might get all offended you were off the list. Get off my back already!<br /><br />So, a lot of you have been bugging me for another funny email, sorry it's taken so long, but I've been pretty busy lately. If I haven't been calling various law enforcement agencies on my boss, shaking him down for hush money, or vandalizing his offices, I've been sorting through my every material possession trying to make a backpack sized lump of the most vital stuff, and deciding whether any of the rest is worth its weight in outrageous shipping costs.<br /></div> <div> </div> <div>Anyway, despite my boss' nearly constant fuckering*, I have managed to have some fun/adventures/what have you.</div> <div><br />Went to Japan in late July, and like, whoa. It's like, if everyone in Korea sobered the fuck up, gained about 20 IQ points, bothered to learn anything at all about the world around them, stopped living like they're just waiting to die, put on some damn makeup, and took a God damned driving lesson already!<br /><br />Part One: The Landscape, oh my God, the Landscape!<br /><br />Most people don't care to know this, but there was a war here fifty years ago. Of course that's what the memorial plaques say. Looking at the place, I would have placed it about 4:50pm last Tuesday. Every animal larger or less elusive than an alley cat has been rounded up and exterminated either for food or to be ground up into hard-on powder. There is literally no wildlife. A bird was singing from a rooftop yesterday. That's rare enough to warrant comment. Homes are built as though for refugees. Four story concrete boxes with no ventilation or insulation are thrown up in a month, by workers who don't know enough to put in earplugs to work a jack hammer, not lift a palette of bricks with their lower back, or avoid light switches when painting, and then are torn down a year and a half later, when what amount to damp, sweltering caves built by idiots for some reason become unliveably foul, mouldering, crumbly hovels. The flora is a bunch of straggly pines, never more than 30 feet high, never wider than two feet in diameter, most usually held up by ropes because they'd been transplanted within the last year because Koreans believe in something called Geomancy. I'll let you look that nonsense up, I couldn't do it justice. Let's just say the man they elected in a <b>landslide</b> in December had his family's corpses exhumed and reburied in a "luckier" spot to help his chances in the election. Everyone knew this and no one cared, and then acted surprised when he turned out to be a complete twit. What I'm trying to say is there's no place in this country that hasn't been fucked with, at least not for the better.<br /><br />Japan, on the other hand, was not only bombed flat but nuked twice, and besides the ruins of the A-bomb Dome in Hiroshima, I'd have been hard pressed to find any evidence. The landscape is beautiful, the farms have variety, not just endless plains of one crop for miles, countryside houses look like Asian versions of Amish country and the cities have buildings with angles both obtuse <b>and</b> acute! Imagine! We climbed Fuji, and I've already gone off on what a nightmare mountaineering is in Korea, so I'll just say that everyone was unfailingly, infuriatingly polite (We never successfully yielded right of way. Some how they can spot a courtesy from twenty paces and beat you to the punch every time.), while there was litter, people cared enough to chuck it into inaccessible and hard to see parts of the mountain, instead of just dropping it anywhere, and the drive to the trailhead went through some of the nicest, lushest, most diverse forest I've seen since leaving Appalachia behind almost a year ago now. (Correction: -temperate forest- Thailand and Laos were pretty nice too) It was restorative being in a place where the biggest douchebags were Americans, as God intended.<br /><br />I guess Buddhists are way better at meditating than anyone else, because their temples are nowhere near as relaxing as a Shinto shrine. We went to one on an island in Hiroshima, and it beat the ever-loving buhjeezus out of any Buddhist temple I've ever been in for being a calming, meditative place to just wander around and wish I hadn't left my frigging camera on a bus to Jeonju two months previously on my way to what had been described by Koreans as a "Cherry blossom festival" which turned out to be the equivalent of a local fire company's shitty summer carnival, without the rides or funnel cakes, and a lot more reeking pots of boiling bugs. So equanimity's not my thing, so what, wanna fight about it?<br /><br />The cities were really nice; expensive, but the quality of everything was so much better than in Korea you hardly cared. We ate mostly out of 7-11's and I think I was better nourished on my fish-rice ball/fruit juice/bread and cheese/Mystery Box Prize diet than I've been since I left Bangkok in February. I should explain here that if you spent more than 700 yen in one go in a 7-11 you got to reach into a box and pull out a coupon to get something in the store for free. There's a minors box with candy, coffee, etc. and an 18+ box which I generally frequented. Among other things I got an object lesson in ignorance being bliss, when having learned to read Japanese meant that the label on the "health drink" I was given told me I had just downed, among other things, 3mg of "neekohteenoo". I don't smoke. Also I got a can of "Can" brand drink, which was basically a can of straight vodka someone had squeezed about four whole lemons into. After "Can" we were pretty well scared straight. As for accommodations, we slept everywhere from internet cafes (very nice) to pod hotels (very cool, but noisy, and kinda gay) to public art (surprisingly comfortable, and cops are too polite to roust you) to a love motel. Love motels in Korea are concrete boxes where you get one dingy room for extremely cheap to be used for... (imagine slapping the side of one fist with the palm of the other hand, that's been my favorite description so far, from the desk staff no less) if you're Koran, or just flopping if you're a Westerner. In Japan, they look a set from You Only Live Twice. The room had a sunken zen rock garden, above which the living room was suspended on comfy bamboo mats, the bedroom had an enormous, laundered, king size bed, there was a bathroom for brushing your teeth, one for the toilet, and one for the shower, a minibar stocked with seriously good booze easily stolen enough to be essentially free, and a TV with the most emotionally scarring porn I've ever seen in my life. It only cost around twice what you'd pay in Korea. And while we're on the subject of quality, the sushi was frigging amazing. We decided to wait until Tokyo, to go to Tsukiji Fish Market to have any, and God what a good decision that was. The equivalent of $40 bucks got you, fresh from the docks twenty feet away, three slices of sashimi, a tuna roll, 11 pieces of the most delicious, fresh (in one case still alive) frigging fish that ever existed, and great sake to wash it down with. Best meal I've ever had, and I've been to Italy and Thailand.<br /><br />Part Two: The Women, oh my God, the Women!<br /></div> <div> </div> <div>My main beef with Korean women is that if they hatched out of effing pods they couldn't be any more conformist. In the summer time everyone wears big baggy tshirts covered in atrocious Engrish, (i.e. "The God of Surfing has gotten off inside of me" - I'd sell my firstborn to Rumplestiltskin for that friggin' thing) and tiny little booty shorts (Great for the first week or so, then you become that tribesman from National Geographic - surrounded by topless women but, you know, so what?) In the wintertime, ridiculously long hoodies that go down to the knees (think garbage bag), the same damn booty shorts, and long socks and fuzzy underwear - to keep warm, obviously. Add in the hairstyles, all one of them, and the fact that they act like retarded 4 year olds because all Asian men are secretly beastiality-ophiles who don't want a woman so much as a dog with unthinking loyalty so you don't have to worry about being cheated on when you go out to fuck hookers, and no introspection so they don't raise hell about what bullshit it all is, and you have an entire nation of women doing their best to look like everyone else. Or to put it another way, average.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> That is emphatically -not- a problem in Japan. Some of the women barely even look human; it's too bad "Star Wars Cantina" is an overused metaphor, because it's so damn on the nose in this case. About ten minutes after getting off the train in Tokyo, we learned how to spot hookers - first, go to where all the girls with two foot high blonde beehives, three inch long bead-azzled fingernails, three postage stamps worth of clothing, and six inch clear plastic stilletto heels hang out, then look for the mousy chicks dressed in sensible clothes. Ironically the only way for a girl to stand out in that city at night is to dress like she's going to a job interview. Obviously it's not all broads dressed like hookers and hookers you could take to your cousin's wedding, there's a healthy cross section of just about any other fad you can imagine taken to its logical extreme, from punks, to hippies, to a rumored Shinjuku rockabilly enclave we never did find. However freaky your alley there are a ton of Japanese way further up it than you would think possible. Which is the third thing I really dug about Japan.<br /><br />Part Three: The... Giving a Shit? Oh my God the giving a shit!<br />"In Korea, it's everyone's first day and last day, everyday." I've been thrown out of a MacDonald's for serving myself after the counter woman couldn't get her shit together within ten minutes. My pal Mike has been reduced to a trembling mess trying to get his morning coffee fix at a Dunkin' Donuts while three girls try to figure out how to work the machine (Pour into filter, put filter in machine, press big red button) and ignore his instructions shouted at them - in Korean. We've fucked over a cabby by asking for an hour and a half long ride to our city on Sunday night and negotiating on a price, without him actually knowing where we were asking him to go. You should have seen his face when he asked another cabby at a red how to get there, the fare didn't even cover tolls. Basically, all Koreans go about their lives as if it's their first and last day on the job. Incompetence, combined with an utter lack of interest in learning to do any better, and not just in their work, in pretty much every aspect of their lives. I've had kids freak out over my Ipod, "80 Giga! Much music!" and then only listen to Old Beatles. I've tried playing them Sgt. Peppers, and no kid has yet sat through the entire first song. I had a "Music Appreciation class" with my gifted students, where I played punk, rock, rap, pop, blues, psychedelia, reggae, and country. Of about 25, I got one kid to admit he enjoyed Aesop Rock, one kid wanted to know where he could download Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and one girl actually argued with the rest of the class when they hated on Drive-By Truckers. I felt like kidnapping her and smuggling her out of the country, it's gonna be a damn shame when she hits 9th grade and becomes an insufferable ditz whose dream job is "stewardess".<br /><br />The first night we spent in Tokyo we went looking for record stores. The second night we realized we are retards, because they are <b>EVERYWHERE. </b>The first we went into had a handbook listing the location of every record store in Japan. There were 11 within three blocks of where we were. Anyway we ended up in stores where the proprietor only dealt in Reggae, Ska, Rocksteady, etc. and had original pressings of Toots and the Maytals, Bob Marley and the Wailing Wailers, and Reggaeton music that didn't make you want twist a rusty corkscrew into your ears, Jazz places with original pressings by James Brown, Miles Davis, some of which cost over $4000, Punk, Classic Rock, you name it. And the only connecting thread was every one of these guys actually cared about what they were doing, could talk confidently and knowledgeably about every album in the store, and was actually eager to listen to your music, even if it wasn't in their little genre slice. Even the corporations know people there aren't into screwing around. We went to a Tower Records, and I ended up in the bookshop, and except for the obligatory Dan Brown, I don't think I saw a single book that wouldn't be intensely interesting to read. They bothered to get the English on their shirts right for God's Sake! Old women are tastefully dressed, polite, and walk erect, rather than miserable, squat gorillas with hideous L-shaped backs from years of carrying everything on their bottom two vertebrae!<br /><br />So in summation, Japan is a very cool place that if you have several million dollars of disposable income, could be the best place to just hang around in and Korea blows goats, or would if there were any left. Anyway, soon I'll be gone and on to a succession of better places. I've put this out there a bunch of times, but I'll be going through Russia, Eastern Europe, Turkey, Greece, and maybe onwards if there's time and money left during September and October. Anybody has any free time and interest in meeting up or vacations already planned lemme know, I'll see what I can do about meeting up with you. Otherwise I'll catch up with Thanksgiving-ish. This will also very likely be the last email, funny or otherwise until then.<br /><br />Annyonghi-Kaseyo!<br />Byrne<br /><br /><br /><br />*fuckering - verb, to act in a manner consistent with that of a total fuckerSeldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-13870700977325570042008-07-03T15:26:00.000-07:002008-07-03T15:38:01.266-07:00Getting Pith EverywhereSince I'm apparently incapable of speaking at any length of time about Korea without it becoming a racist tirade, I'll be trying to put up the two or three witty bon mots that make me think "Now <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">this</span></span> is a good topic for the blog" but without any editorializing or context:<br /><br />Me: Would you say Koreans are worse at thinking things through, or at being blonde?<br />Mike: Oh, um. Wow...Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-80439434001307937132008-06-09T07:25:00.000-07:002008-06-09T07:32:14.887-07:00Today is the Dutch Payday of my DiscontentSo I think I might have some trouble readjusting to America. Judging people and mocking them has become such a reflex that I might literally be losing my sense of humor. I was walking today and saw a Korean, wearing a T-shirt, with English words. And I was well into my "seriously dumbass, check a dictionary and get the spelling right for once" inner monologue when I realized it was a fucking pun. That worked.<br /><br />Only in Korea can a man walk down the street hand in hand with his girl, wearing a shirt that says "Ripped for her pleasure", and be considered a man of taste and discernment. Well done guy.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-24430475663803413532008-05-07T03:12:00.000-07:002008-05-09T02:22:39.695-07:00Chicken Soup for the SeoulSo today in class we were playing a game in which the first five students to plow though the avalanche of busywork I set up for them received a prize, namely, one piece of candy from the 7/11 on the way to work. Unfortunately, Korean child's tendency to doing all work in a huge group to minimize the actual doing of said work, and the general Korean tendency to never think more than one step ahead, meant that I regularly had kids working in teams of up to 10, for a possible five prizes.<br /><br />This resulted in the last member of the winning six-girl team to my desk freaking out because of my inability to undermine the very warp and woof of reality and make 6 less than or equal to 5 so that she could get a shitty piece of convenience store candy.<br /><br />Fortunately, this chick's mom didn't raise no fool, and she quickly figured out a workaround. The workaround? Jumping the other girls as they ate their candy and trying to suck it out of their mouths. Naturally. Of course, there being no gay in Korea, the other girls were less than enthused. They expressed this by spanking the shit out of her and mauling her boobs. May I remind everyone, there is No Gay In Korea.<br /><br />This is happening about 3 feet from the teacher's desk, myself and Korean Teacher who typifies Korean discipline. Ol' Tight Ship, as I've just this very second taken to calling her, completely ignores the writhing, screaming dykepile on the floor, leaving it to me to handle the situation.<br /><br />I spend an excruciatingly long second trying to figure out a way of phrasing "Ladies, please stop slapping that girl's ass and squeezing her tits, I have a goddamn lesson on word order here!" in a way that 13-14 year old girls who speak approximately eight words of English can understand, as I am not getting my hands anywhere near this, and decide I can't even acknowledge this is happening without feeling like a total perv.<br /><br />As I headed into the far corner of the boy's side of the room to get away from that fucking deportation waiting to happen, I notice that most of these frigging clowns can't even be bothered to look up from their games of Kai-Bai-Bo, Jacks, or Beat the Shit Out of Someone Smaller Than You.<br /><br />I was initially going to talk about how incredulous I was that an eighth grade boy of any nationality would rather play rock paper scissors than watch a third of the females in class have more sex with each other in the middle of 8th period than most of these 'tards have managed in their imaginations, but then I had an epiphany. If that's how oblivious these people can be, there's not really any complaining about the driving, the food, the attention, or lack thereof, in class, anything. It's a wonder they even manage to get their pants on in the first try.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-27742294665751362762008-04-29T01:11:00.000-07:002008-04-29T01:26:17.048-07:00Ben Stein, What Sick Game Are You Playing?So maybe you've heard of Richard Nixon? Intelligent Design? The Home Mortgage Crisis?<br /><br />Well Ben Stein has. When he used to spout about Nixon on his game show, I thought that he was a delusional Republican, no big deal.<br /><br />Then he came out with an ID movie which has been described as "a classic bait-and-switch, presenting itself as a plea for freedom in the scientific marketplace of ideas, while actually delivering a grossly unfair, contradictory, and ultimately repugnant attack on Darwinists, " in which "he strides proudly over the last line of decency in contemporary documentary filmmaking." Ok, whatever, we all have our off days.<br /><br />Then this: A recent appearance on CBS's Sunday morning that got this review.<br /><br />A brief word about <strong><em>CBS Sunday Morning</em></strong>: While it is obvious that this network's coverage and presentation of current events is geared toward old people, the target audience of Charles Osgood's show seems to be already dead—peacefully so. There was, last time around, some tranquil nature footage. Also, a profile of crooner Michael Bublé that refused to stint on clichés. ("The other thing Bublé won't change, he says, is being himself, outspoken and open.") Ben Stein, the actor and economist, came on to do a commentary on the mortgage crisis in which he argued that federal funds should be devoted to aiding the dogs and cats disadvantaged by the fallout. Either this was exquisitely subtle satire, or everyone involved with the segment has lost his mind.<br /><br />I watched this at work the first time, and had to fight laughter so hard I literally cried tears. These guys are right; Stein is either fucking certifiable, or has been working this whole time to gather the forces of the right around him to drive them all screaming off a cliff of absurdity.<br /><br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2RCe66wkpfY&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2RCe66wkpfY&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />I submit the question: Ben Stein, Sociopath or Genius?Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-39024574927985040552008-04-29T01:04:00.000-07:002008-05-08T00:19:06.639-07:00It's late and I'm too tired to think of a titleNow that I've surmounted the most important (or only important) (or only)hurdles in my life this year, I find myself with quite a bit more drinking/screed writing time on my hands. Which means I will be drinking and writing assorted screeds with a bit more redundancy, frequency, intensity and redundancy. And hijacking Freshman's mouthpiece to do it, because it's much more satisfying and enjoyable to fuck with someone else's shit than express yourself creatively on your own terms.<br /><br />During a cooking related class last week, I asked the kids to tell me the words they knew related to cooking, and surprisingly, almost always got "Fuse" first. After my usual "Are you fucking with me, and if not, have you any <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">idea </span>what the hell you're even talking about?" first class on Monday three second pause, I realized that they meant what goes on in the kitchens of the Fusion restaurants.<br /><br />Koreans, much like all Asians whose cultures don't consider weed and shrooms essential foodgroups, are bound by tradition in much the same way Hannibal Lecter was bound to that handcart. I once tried to get a smoothie consisting of more than one fruit form my local pizza shop. This took three weeks, multiple visits, offers of triple the regular smoothie price, and a small but crack team of interpreters assembled painstakingly from the best of the best of whichever of my dullard students happened to be hanging out on the corner when we rolled up. If you'd seen the counter girl's face right before she hit blend you'd have thought she was clinging to the underside of a bus doing 50.5 mph and I told her to cut the blue wire. "They're all blue wires!" So yea, a little hesitant to step out of the box.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTha8REd-MGf6uQ9s1M3PKAssoOoU6C2WNOz5ovFvIjaUOScjq9meXGHalNLKy1cLUK0M1nkvZwECu2hD4M1FeK2KKWGWcEYQOCFKEZOQG0cHdGK2hpiPHIHC6DysBQ4hyxSsW30MsN-sF/s1600-h/ajumma.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTha8REd-MGf6uQ9s1M3PKAssoOoU6C2WNOz5ovFvIjaUOScjq9meXGHalNLKy1cLUK0M1nkvZwECu2hD4M1FeK2KKWGWcEYQOCFKEZOQG0cHdGK2hpiPHIHC6DysBQ4hyxSsW30MsN-sF/s320/ajumma.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194606662190474978" border="0" /></a>Most traditional Korean restaurants have about three different dishes: Korean Barbeque, Soup, and BibimBap. Korean barbecue consists of giving you some raw meat which you put on a grill and cook yourself however you see fit, as long as it is one of the "proper" ways to cook food that you're fucking paying for. If that last bit seems confusing, don't worry, the ugliest old lady you've ever seen will be around to scold you, cut your meat for you, and pour Kimchi and meat grease all over the fried rice you were planning to eat. The soup is made by placing the entire, unboned, uncleaned and/or unscaled animal in a pot of water, maybe adding spices, and boiling. Bibimbap is a bowl of white rice with an egg, greens, carrots and spicy soybean paste on top that you mix together. Apparently "seasoning white rice" is considered cuisine, and the local state capital claims not only to serve better boiled white rice with toppings available off the shelf of your local grocery store than anyone else, but to be the birthplace of this dish, which is sort of like claiming you invented buttered bread and then resting on your laurels for two millenia.<br /><br />So essentially we're dealing with a culture with a less of a clue than the British how to make food taste like it, and the mercurial mental nimbleness of a three legged rhino. But they do have one thing working in their favor, an almost achingly pathetic desire to be American, from hoodies for little girls with English phrases like "Today is Dutch Payday" or "Love Sluts. Enhance Your Life" plastered on them, to a love bordering on worship for such luminaries as Paris Hilton and Triple H. Enter the Fusion Restaurant<br /><br />Korea's lousy with these places which serve you Kimchi Pizza or funky milk soup or some other abomination which, I guess I would take over some of the straight-up Korean stuff that's been put in front of me so far. I used to hate these joints, but now I think they're a vital part of Korea learning to embrace "strong flavors" (ask Mike). Kids today grow up eating Kimchi Pizza, while their crotchety (literally the only kind of old lady out here) grandmothers look the other way, because at least the young'uns are still eating Kimchi on everydamnthing! And in ten years, once the old folks are safely in the ground, the country can take another baby step, such as taking the bones and intestines out of whatever they eat before they eat it. And so on until the peninsula's rehabilitated enough to reenter gastronomic society.<br /><br />Fusion restaurants - Food Methadone. Think about it.Seldon T. Scrantonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07637030622413650027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-71077048812031734752008-04-22T02:28:00.000-07:002008-04-22T05:25:22.991-07:00Buhlessingsuh. Counteduh. Part Dul.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Because Mike is oh so regrettably derelict in his his use of the sign-out button on certain computers, you will all now be subjected to the musings of Ravishin' Dan, Korea's most eligible bachelor</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvJl8-AtNRtgoSYqfWzf9FJ0wxOkNcwT-dehYMlHyra0yT-m09-MqCxwTkIU8qhpXfEKS5IWknJZD2pyfBnnBB0IbLWfXBPXc3LCzQsJ18HpjqZMJm7rDEoYlZaYB89MSJ6ZXB1iPT7l9/s320/Dashing.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192009750498078594" />I am <span style="font-weight:bold;">fucking</span> bulletproof, and you can be too! Is it because Korean bosses are slimy little quats too stupid not to hand you a paper trail outlining in fine detail the particulars of their embezzlement? Well, yes, partly. But it is also because Korean women, vastly overrepresented in Korean education, have been down so long, they don't know what up, or in this case the most perfunctory courtesy, is.<br /><br />My manners might generously be called boorish, assuming you define generous as donating 75% of your paycheck to charity and sleeping on a futon with your 12 adopted crack babies because you're letting syphilitic bums crash in all the bedrooms. Just till they get this thing together. Pouring my dinner out of the pot into some kind of bowl or plate is a nicety reserved for company, I rarely speak in a voice below a sotto bellow, and my preferred mode of letting off steam is insulting the intelligence, ancestry, and/or native country of strangers. And yet, compared to your average Korean gent, I'm the closest thing to James Bond these poor broads are ever going to encounter.</div><div><br />I think enough weygooks read this blog that my back is got here. You practically have to grab your average agashi by the hair and pitch bodily her through any door you try holding for her. I can always put a smile on my face by holding the teacher's room door open on the way out for a female teacher who's about 20-25 feet away. She has somewhere to go, so she can't politely refuse to pass and stand there until I give up, so the only thing to do is get through the door as fast as possible, which is of course <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">im</span>possible in the slippers we all have to wear indoors. They're left with what I can only imagine to be an agonizing half minute of speed-shuffling, eyes fixed firmly on the ground, blushing and giggling as though I've thrown my coat onto a mud puddle so her feet won't get wet as I help her onto the white stallion upon which she'll be whisked off to her third period ethics class. I think with a very basic grasp of the language you could make some serious bank as a Harlequin style romance writer over here. "...and the foreigner gazed at her with his extremely, unnervingly, not-brown eyes and swore from the bottom of his heart that he would love her until she got ugly, and would only get blitzed and bang whores on weekends. Her bosom's heaving was such that it seemed no bra, no matter how padded, could contain it!"</div><div><br />So anyway, three paragraphs later here we are, at the main thrust of the post. It was a long hard slog, some of you were there from the start, some of you might not have been born when it began, and the rest are now dead. But by God, there's no looking back and we're all better people for it. Here goes: It doesn't matter whether I show up late, hungover, or not at all, the teachers love my ass. I'm like a teflon Elliot Ness! How have I built up this good will? By being a reasonable human being, and assuring my teachers in our conversation classes that no, I don't think I would have a problem drinking or gambling all my money away, Angela's Ashes style, without having my wife hoard it and dole out an allowance, and no, now that you mention it, I kinda do like cooking, and were my back is completely against the wall, I could be convinced to clean</div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLP1Zwu7agkadbC6HLXLRyEi7m461truZyLzdfcxKAO2Rzf4eMTfFrpaHdMuZTMJI7Jii8DnN9PS0GeB-sI2zCKKfKd61ceseE8brrkhkRSxxrJibd8H6EDqLALtq1WJv93FbowRbxmzQd/s320/Prometheus.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192011936636432274" /><div><br /></div><div>I've brought in homemade chocolate chip cookies, almost out of spite, to shame them into ending the forcefeeding of gloopy unsweetened rice "treats" I endure thrice weekly or thereabouts, with a "Look here you, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">this</span></span> is a goddamn <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">con</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">fect</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">ion</span></span></span>. You must feel like a dick now, eh?" moment. I don't think they're well schooled on the subtleties of contempt via pastry, but they were suitably awed. I honestly had to show one teacher where two cookies had fused together and then been broken apart to convince him that no, these are not fucking Chic Choc, human hands can craft cookies. Of course, if Zeus learns I let the secret out, I'm in for some shit.</div><div><br />I've always wondered about how so many foreigners, especially some of them, end up with the Korean wives they do, in a culture in which mongrel and biracial are more or less synonyms. I guess it's like being proposed to by a dashing aristocrat, who also happens to have a vestigial tail and a heart murmur. Kids'll get a pretty shitty end of the stick, but hey, he pulled my seat out at Mr. Pizza!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-67592365135727928452008-04-21T23:58:00.000-07:002008-04-22T00:08:33.421-07:00Warry, Warry, Wah Wah Wah! Where's My Pencil Case?That is actually the majority of a song that I have to sing with fifth grade kids. Every class, someone asks me what "Warry, Warry, Wah Wah Wah!" means. It's a legitimate question, as it's said almost ten times in a forty-five second song. No one ever seems satisfied with the "it means nothing" answer. When asked why it's in the song, I have the urge to yell something like "I didn't write the goddamn textbook, and if I had my druthers, we'd burn the motherfucker right here and now!"<br /><br />But instead I just hit play again and think about what time it's okay to start drinking on a Tuesday. In an unrelated note, I just accidentally bought a kilogram of chicken when the recipe only calls for one pound. Chicken Vindaloo, if anyone cares. So, if you live in Jeonbuk and need 500 grams of chicken in the next twenty-four hours, you can holla. ANYWAYS, I brought up the Warry song to introduce the little ditty below. I have no idea who these guys are, but I find it's balance of Lazy Sunday-ness and Korean English Teacher-ness to be pleasing to my mind grapes. Also, I'm curious if this has any meaning to anyone outside of Korea.<br /><br />Without further ado, on a very special Tuesday post, here is "Kickin' it in Geumcheon":<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QjBfy_HVoSM&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QjBfy_HVoSM&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-26914362612716265942008-04-17T00:05:00.000-07:002008-04-17T01:10:21.094-07:00Oh My God! We're Having a Fire ..... Festival!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.libertyfilmfestival.com/libertas/wp-content/MPW8588.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.libertyfilmfestival.com/libertas/wp-content/MPW8588.jpeg" border="0" alt="" /></a>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. <br />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 <a href="http://www.trifood.com/dakdoritang.html">Dakdori Tang</a>), 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 <a href="http://www.dailykitten.com">this</a> website.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://www.hyundai-motorsfc.com/WebEng/Player/PlayerMain.aspx#">this</a> 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."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="Ten Dollar, racist artist's depiction"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.bluecorncomics.com/pics/seussjap.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style:italic;">towering?<br /></span>) inferno. <br /><br />Then I found out it was a fire drill.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style:italic;">je ne se qua</span> 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:<br /><br />1. A pair of teachers attempt to put out the blaze with fire extinguishers but fail miserably.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-86939202505904832552008-04-11T13:33:00.000-07:002008-04-11T14:56:45.600-07:00Counteeng My Blessingsuh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/71/VB218.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/71/VB218.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The following is a guest post from the Right Reverend Booker T. Kilimanjaro, who is sending his correspondence from a dystopian future society known only as "Ko-rea".<br /><br /></span>So it's recently occurred to me that I've been feeling "gloomy" lately. (A little inside, I know.) So I've decided to buck up and count my blessings in what will be heralded as, but not become ever in reality, a recurring feature on this site.<br /><br />Blessing number one: Being able to say whatever I want, whenever I want, at whatever volume I want, about anyone I please.<br /><br />After spending the better part of a year in Korea's Alabraska (The culture of Alabama, the landscape of Nebraska, and the national currency of Alaska) I'd be less shocked by a singing pig than a Korean speaking uninflected, fluent English. Add to that the fact that Koreans, in what might be a bigger racial handicap than the drinking, or the driving, or the drinking and the driving, or even the dogs with bees in their mouths so when they bark they shoot bees at you, love to make themselves look like the lead in an Anime, a Japanese word that can mean risibly coiffed ladyboy, or prepubescent whore, depending on the gender of the person in question. Needless to say I get my recommended daily dose of "Jumpin' Jesus! Get a load of <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> fucktard!" moments, which I then proceed to voice volubly and vociferously whatever the situation. I figure it's only a matter of time before I get my throat kicked by an outlandishly dressed Seoulite who's school and hogwan actually sprung for native speakers.<br /><br />Another great part of that is stress reduction inherent in being able to speak your mind to anyone you want. I had a very Zen moment when earlier this week, standing next to my forty year old female co-teacher, shouting above the roiling horde of Gooklings that I will under no circumstances repeat the rules of the game we were about to play and that if they messed up they would be held to account, I was casting about for a phrase that they would understand and would drive the second point home. I then realized that they since they aren't even listening I may as well say what I want. Which is how I found myself roaring "... and if you get it wrong, well, <span style="font-weight: bold;">TOUGH TITTY!</span>" at a bunch of 13 year olds on Monday.<br /><br />Of course, I am an <span style="font-style: italic;">English teacher</span>, and as a recognized master of the ineffable Waygook gibber, I'm constantly looked to for an example of the proper use of idiom. Also on Monday, I was teaching with the most fluent of my teachers, and after a kid gave a particularly Hanglish riddled answer the stately old gent replied with "Seriously, what the hell?!", which I can only guess he learned as attache to the US millitary during his service in Seoul, and employed based on my use of that and similar phrases in that and similar situations. The best part was the expectant, hopeful look he shot me after he said it, to see if his pronunciation and syntax were ok. That'll do, pig, that'll do.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>Forty Minutes Of Hellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05722548367840764016noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75871907482166387.post-29890018535263189322008-03-17T03:18:00.000-07:002008-03-17T03:30:19.024-07:00In the Long Run, or: She Cried "Go!" or: Morning Redness in the East<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c210/txcrystal82/3255651_l.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c210/txcrystal82/3255651_l.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">You've probably noticed that the title and picture of this post has no tangible connection to Crispin Hellion Glover. That is because today's post is a special guest post by one the Right Reverend Booker T. Kilimanjaro, formerly Gent Nicely. Throughout it's illustrious past, whenever Forty Minutes of Hell has needed someone to give their perspective on the world(s) of middle and long distance running, we have turned to the Reverend K.* At other times, he e-mails someone out of the blue demanding that we post this or that nigh - incomprehensible rant. This is one of those times.</span><br /><br />Oh hello. Didn't see you there, how've you been? Good, good. Good to hear, glad you're taking up a hobby. You're only young once right? What's that you say? My weekend? Funny you should ask.<br /><br /><br />"*sob* I need a hug!"<br />"Get the fucking shoes off, get 'em off!"<br />"Thank you sir, and a race well run to you as well. No I would not like to massage your legs. No I would not like you to massage mine."<br />"My number? 4-0-7-gimmememyfugginbagalready!"<br />"Please don't come near me Bigclowns. Please Please Please. Don't make me deal with you."<br /><br />The following are things I either said or muttered under my breath just after finishing the Dong-a Marathon in Seoul, over twice as long as the longest race I've ever run, and I'm struck by how it was almost exactly like, if not a little better than, getting date-raped. Indulge me whilst I explain. <br /><br />One day the Marathon's in town, you've never run one, you've just heard things that make it sound mysterious, exciting, maybe a little... dangerous? Intrigued, you give it a shot, and it starts out as a blast, all this pomp and fanfare, (just for you!) and before you know it you've run further than you ever have, and feel like you're soaring on the wings of the Titanic, with Leonardo DiCaprio holding your waist. But then, at about the midpoint, the Marathon goes too far. "This isn't cool anymore," you think to yourself "I want to go home now." But it's too late, too much has happened, and it's buy the ticket, take the ride. <br /><br />You begin to panic. Meanwhile androgynous Asians in powder blue cowboy outfits shout "Fighting!" at you. As it progresses you find yourself retreating into yourself, trying to deny what's happening to you, block it out, make it be over, but it just keeps getting worse. Also women in tiger costumes throw frozen treats at your head. Eventually it's over, and the only thing you can think is how much you need a hug, a shower and a good cry. <br /><br />So you limp away, sore, sticky, confused and so full of self loathing that when strange old men offer to massage your legs without so much as buying you a drink, you actually have to think hard for a reason why not. But it doesn't end there, oh no. A short while later, along comes a hateful little souvenir, a little forget-me-not from your friend the marathon, that perhaps, with time and patience, you can learn to love. There was no handwriting or speaking involved in my registration by the way. Signed up on the 'net. Koreans raise misspelling to an art form.<br /><br />And that was my weekend. How was yours?<br /><br />This is for certain friends of mine, and you know who you are. Only the second two titles are references. The first one is all Byrne, so you can give wikipedia a break.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">* - This has never happened.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-style:italic;">Editor's Note: I have neglected to edit any of this, minus the fact that it was originally one long paragraph. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1