Typical, Hilarious, Supposedly "Anti" Drug Commercial

Besides being extremely hilarious, this supposedly "anti" drug commercial from the eighties is a great example of usual American "war on drug" culture. Its like that D.A.R.E. program we all went through when we were little kids in school, and the police officer would come in the room with a suitcase full of drugs, and show us what they looked like, what the street name was, what they did to you, how much they cost approximately, and whether or not they could likely be found in the surrounding area. Now, if that isn't an advertisement to do drugs, I don't know what is. Couple this irony with the fact that, at this point, approximately 10% of young people are on prescribed psychotropic drugs, mostly Adderoll, which is like really good cocaine which lasts seven times as long, and in pill form, hence, doesn't make your nose bleed. I've had it as an adult, and I can't imagine what it would do to an eight year old body, especially regularly, over a sustained period of time.

Take this video. They tell you that about one third of Americans do cocaine, from every walk of life, and then that wanker says that it feels like a sexual climax "times 100." Then they tell you that laboratory rats would rather have cocaine than food or water. Sounds pretty great, right? Like a mysterious, wonder substance?

What they don't tell you is that it makes you stand around the table or kitchen counter where the bag is for hours, with people you probably can't stand, talking about stupid shit you're supposedly going to do to save the world the next morning, and that once its all gone you have to get more, that you grind your teeth and develop odd, anti-social ticks, that once you fall asleep, you wake up the next morning with a marble-sized booger in your nose, that you will have to sniff for two weeks to keep snot from falling out of your nose, and that your nose will bleed randomly for said time, that it will shrink your penis and suck all of your money out of the bank. But they don't tell you that in the video. They just say how great it is, and then insinuate that it's bad, vaguely, in some kind of wishy-washy, Peter Pan way.

Then they throw you in jail for trying it. Great system.

Sports Are Painful

Last night, my coworker Nick came knocking on my door around ten, to see if I wanted to go out to the batting cages. Of course I did! Actually, I have grown somewhat fond of the notion, since having gone a few days ago, the first time since, well, I was a little boy. We walked over to them, which is very close to my apartment, a matter of a five minute walk. We each did about four rounds, one of which, or 20 balls, costs about 34 american cents. Its a cheap workout. In fact, my arms are sore. As is my thigh, as I stepped in front of the machine when it was apparently not done shooting balls at me. Good thing they are somewhat soft, fake baseballs, and not real ones. I wouldn't be able to walk if that were the case.

After deciding that we were winded enough from swinging the bat around, we decided to go to a nearby bar, called "Thursday Party," and down some beers. This we did, whilst talking about our respective hometowns, or mostly Toronto, which is where Nick is from. The bar we went to had curried popcorn and deep fried spaghetti for bar food. Isn't that weird! But it was very good. Who does that? Koreans.

We went to another place, a regular fixture at this point called Kino-Eye, and threw some darts. I am actually getting better at darts, but it sucks that over here, all the dartboards are those fake plastic ones you have to put money into.

Deciding to call it a night, we walked home, and I picked up two corn dogs along the way, the second of which I am enjoying as a breakfast snack right now, coupled with instant coffee and the BBC World News Service. I've got report cards to make up and give out for about forty students today, so I am up extra early, to make sure I get my news fix before heading into the breach of screaming children and elementary English.

Happy Trails!

Conflicting Views on Ideal Political Theory, Part 1

For years, since being a young man, having sprung from a fairly ignorant political worldview, which was really no political worldview at all, I have strove to locate a theoretical and practical political framework which seems to resonate most closely with my own unique perspective on things. I realized early on that the current, mainstream division between "right" and "left," between "conservative" and "liberal," at least as spoken of within American political discourse, was a false division, and could never serve my needs as a seeker of solidity in these rocky tempests. I realized that, in many instances, those labeling themselves as conservatives were anything but, as well as for those calling themselves liberals. The terms themselves seem to be very poorly understood in the first place. Both have become loaded and confused by poor communication, and decades of exposure and submission to an opportunistic media which caters to the lowest common denominator, and discourages constructive, healthy discourse.

I realized, after continued and impassioned perusal of my public library, that in many respects, I consider myself what is commonly thought of as a conservative, and in other respects, a liberal. I also consider myself an anarchist, as well as a libertarian, as well as in some respects, a fascist, and in others, a socialist. So, suffice it to say, I could never, with any heart and soul, consider myself a Republican, or Democrat. The spectrum that these so-called political ideologies attempt to encompass is far too narrow for me, and the boundary between them is far too transitory, besides.

Politics and political theory are murky waters to swim about in, when looking for answers that achieve satisfaction for the needs of the intellect or the soul. Many thorns wait to ensnare. For instance, I consider myself, most simply, to be an anarchist, in that I believe, and know, that homo sapiens sapiens is a species that is perfectly able to achieve its vocational, societal, cultural, and spiritual needs without an external, imposed, coercive, hierarchy of control mechanized by a separate class of persons, politicians, within a cumbersome and exceedingly costly infrastructure called "government." I believe that our needs can and should be met locally, cooperatively, and towards the highest good of all involved in the society.

Naturally, but unfortunately, we all inherited the set of systems that we live in, and it is hard sometimes to "think outside the box," and imagine how things could be fundamentally different. In other words, it should be easy for Americans of most political persuasions to imagine having a democratic, or republican, president, but how much more difficult is it for most of us to imagine having no president at all, as the founding fathers of America imagined the then-distant possibility of having no king? Fairly difficult, it seems, as anarchism is still considered by the observable maintsream to be a fringe position, a utopian dream, impossible and naive.

However, all anarchistic ideals aside (and, as a side note, please do yourself a favor, and read one of the classics on Anarchism, such as No Gods, No Masters by Daniel Guerin, or Nationalism and Culture by Rudolph Rocker, if you have no familiarity with the idea-set contained within classical Anarchism), there are also times when I feel myself curiously resonating with a semi or even full-on fascist ideology. Now, by fascism, I do not mean racism or xenophobia, as we have been raised to believe are necessary implements of fascism. They are frequently a part of fascist movements, but are not part and parcel of fascism, but are merely forces which have bound people together in many social and cultural milieus since time immemorial. One only needs to cite the colonial and nineteenth century United States, where racism and genocide, against the Indians and Africans, were rampant, and integral, to our democracy, at the time.

No, by fascism, I mean the marriage of state and corporate interests, and the absolute control of all of our movements, dealings, possessions, and means of living in any way. A system of complete control, from the top to the bottom, where one singular ideology is decided appropriate, and impugned onto the masses.

For fascism is the logical antithesis of anarchism: the former advocates "a governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism, regimenting all industry, commerce, etc., and emphasizing an aggressive nationalism," while the latter advocates "a doctrine urging the abolition of government or governmental restraint as the indispensable condition for full social and political liberty." One is black and the other white, for all intents and purposes, as opposite as any two ideologies can be from one another. And, it is curious how the two play over and almost into each other in my brain, as potential solutions to our current global straits of mass warfare, lack of means of survival, embrace of meaning, and collective direction.

The difference between the two is that anarchism rests on and necessitates an optimistic outlook of the potential course of the interrelationship of the human species, whereas fascism depends on a pessimistic one. And, an optimistic view of such is increasingly difficult for me, if even it is one that I, perhaps unrealistically but naturally and passionately, cling to.

The reality is that, the way things are going, with all these horrible and inhuman wars us Americans are perpetuating, this global economic crisis, exponentially rising levels of population, and increasing control over our means of survival, it is becoming difficult to be optimistic. I surely could not be optimistic if I had watched my country being bombed to literal death over the past six years, or my house reduced to rubble, my family buried in shallow graves because of the whims of a handful of greedy, power hungry men. Sometimes, I have to admit, it might just be better if we had a one world authority, a one person in charge, a perhaps global solution to all of humanity's ill-conceived and immoral, as well as developmental and constructive, actions.

Fascism and Anarchism stem from two fundamentally different philosophic worldviews: that of the efficacy and necessity of the one idea, and that of the efficacy and necessity of a multiplicity of ideas. It is hard to decide which is really correct for the healthy advancement of human development. For instance, if we were all living in self-built houses, in an economy unfettered by regulation or externally approved currency value, then anarchism would be the spot on ideology for ordering society, as far I was concerned. However, living as we do on a globe of six billion, of several hundred countries, many of us already dependent upon governmental infrastructure, sometimes it seems that fascism would be the only solution to our problems.

It is a thorny issue. But this is only entry one on this subject.

I have to let my fingers rest a bit, mix up another gin and grapefruit juice, pacing around the apartment rubbing my face, scratching my ass, and attending to all of my unfortunate emotional issues, like dearly missing a woman far, far away and so much further away emotionally than I would ever wish.

There is no nice happy handbook for dealing with these issues, as I always hoped, as a child.

Stay tuned!

Happy Trails!

The Candy Colored Clown They Call the Sandman

I don't know if my body is still getting used to the time change or what is going on, but I routinely wake up at weird times, like this morning, when I woke up at 5am. I felt immensely tired, and I had many hours before work, but after tossing around for ten minutes I decided to get up and be constructive, and continue my research into the several issues which are of interest right now to me, like the United Nations' "Agenda 21," a one-world-government style plan currently being implemented in different ways.

I laid back down around 9am to see if I could sleep some more, and did doze off after a little while. I had a dream. I was in my apartment, and the buzzer rang, as if someone were calling me from downstairs, and I got up out of bed, but I didn't know I was dreaming until I stepped into the hall and it was completely different than my hall. It looked like a school of some sort, and there were streamers and decorations covering everything, even the stairs, as if there had been a child's birthday party or something. At the base of the stairs, in a kind of foyer, there were several young women standing around, like they were waiting for me, but I couldn't open my eyes more than a squint, and I could only make out their silhouettes, which was very frustrating. So I turned around and slowly went back up the stairs, dragging my feet like a zombie. I got back into my bed, and all of the sudden, there was an image of a space shuttle hurtling out into space, and it really scared me for some reason, and then the word "democracy" was being said in my head, over and over again, until the voice was drowned out by eventually painfully loud, high-pitched radio static and I wanted to wake up or move or open my eyes but I couldn't for several seconds, and I was terrified, the sound was so loud it hurt my brain, but finally I shook my body awake, and the sound slowly went away after my eyes were open.

It made me uneasy in a way I cannot explain, except that everything seems kind of weird now.

The Inimitable Robert Anton Wilson, One of my Biggest Heroes

I was getting nostalgic of that time when I first discovered the brilliant, hilarious, activating, and illuminating work of the late Robert Anton Wilson, who passed on from our dimension in late 2007. It was his book, Cosmic Trigger, which spurred me into an enlightening, bizarre, and perpetual quest to find out the truth about this whole universe/spirituality/consciousness/humanity thing. I read that book in one sitting, and delighted in its encyclopedic review of religion, quantum physics, psychedelia, Aleister Crowley, the occult, yoga, systems theory, and 1960s American pop culture. Everyone should read this book, should these topics remotely interest you. Quantum Psychology, which revolutionizes conceptions of how perception, awareness, and quantum reality interact, blew my mind as well. Prometheus Rising, another great, explains and expands upon Timothy Leary's very informative 8 Circuit theory of human psycho-spiritual development. Out of all the people in history that I would like to have a beer with, Robert would be up there with Frank Zappa, Jesus Christ, and Rudolph Rocker. I found this great little snippet of Wilsonian goodness on youtube and wanted to share it with all of you, while encouraging you to dive into the dazzling, eye-opening, life-affirming world of Robert Anton Wilson! ENJOY!

Well, I Finally Met My Boss...

So the faculty (I really get off on considering myself part of a "faculty") of the school I work at was taken out to dinner last night, on the dime of the director, the allegedly stern, conservative, and opinionated Mr. Pok, whom I had never met. He owns the chain of eleven english academies in Busan, one of which I work at. We rode over around 10 o'clock, to a traditional Korean restaurant. There were about twenty of us, all Korean except for myself, and three of my American coworkers. We all sat on cushions on the floor at a long table, and old waitresses began literally filling the table with all sorts of dishes....cabbage kim-chi, lettuce kim-chi, red bean paste, sesame oil, raw onions, blocks of tofu, beans of some sort, a salad of green onions and hot sauce, more hot sauce, oysters, and, the main course...pork belly! Yes, I had had cow stomach before, but never stomach of pig. And, I gotta say, I'm a convert. Its like a very fatty, chewy bacon. And we grilled it ourselves on the table.

The table was also lined with bottles of beer and soju, the Korean national beverage, a 20% alcohol wine/liquor which tastes exactly like watered down vodka. You shoot it. In Korean culture, if the event is at all formal, one never fills their own glass, and when receiving or giving/pouring a drink, you put your other hand on the arm being used. Don't ask me why...all I know is, is that if you forget and just fill your own glass, or forget the hand on the arm thing, you will attract mildly offended eyes and the clearing of throats. I know from experience. So, the alcohol poured freely; Koreans like to drink. It might be the national past time.

Mr. Pok showed up and Chris and I immediately stood up and awkwardly half-bowed, which caused everyone, including Mr. Pok, to burst into laughter. He was seated near me, which made me think I should lay off the soju and make sure I didn't do anything remotely clumsy/stupid. Turns out, Mr. Pok is a very cool guy, and didn't let me get away with laying off the booze. In fact, he was pouring shots for our side of the table about every five minutes. I was beginning to really like the guy. He didn't seem like a jerk about anything, and was very friendly, and for some reason, very impressed with my command of the two Korean words I know. We had an excellent conversation on why Led Zeppelin is the greatest band in the world, and the nuanced differences within their corpus, such as their treatment of subjects as diverse as hard and heavy sex, like in "Black Dog," to exploration of Celtic folk music and mysticism, like "The Battle of Evermore" and "Stairway to Heaven." He is also, evidently, a big fan of Thin Lizzy, which instantly puts anyone in my "cooler than anyone else" category. We stayed away from political discourse, as I was warned beforehand that he is an ardent supporter of former President George W. Bush's foreign policy, which would place him squarely in the "dumber than a bag of hair and as morally lucid as Charles Manson" category. But it was great to enjoy mutual enjoyment of Don Fogerty and Frank Zappa with my boss. I was able to chat up some of my coworkers, as well, and was seated across from the one I sort of have a thing for. After she started drinking, she opened up like a can of beans and wanted to know everything about me. It's fun to be treated as an exotic artifact from a far away place. I don't mind the attention at all. They were really tickled by the fact that I studied religion in school, for some reason. So we ate and ate and ate...they were all impressed at the velocity with which I was wolfing down the food, and seemed all surprised that I liked it at all. I love Korean food.

After the meal, with everyone red-faced, sloppy, and laughing hysterically (including my usually stone-faced manager at the school) we stumbled down the street to a karoake bar. I thought to myself "how cliche!" Once arriving in our private karoake room, we were all seated around in a big half circle, and a waitress began bringing in trays full of beers. I thought to myself "oh god...I'm going to make an ass of myself tonight..." Everyone got a beer, and Mr. Pok went around the group one by one, and everyone had to chug the beer. No one was able to chug the whole thing in one fell swoop, except.....your's truly! I took the whole thing down and slammed the beer can on the table, emitting a large, greasy, sweaty belch. (Mom, seriously...how proud are you of me now?)

Mr. Pok immediately began clapping and hooting and yelling in Korean, and came over and slapped me on the back, very approvingly. It was so surreal! So, us three English speaking guys had to start the night of singing off, and we picked "Beat It" by Michael Jackson. It was very hard for me to not do the obvious hand gestures...I thought that would be going too far. And, yes, Dan, I played air guitar to the Eddie Van Halen solo, replete with meticulous attendance to the two-hand tapping parts. The Koreans LOVED that.

So, we butchered that, which was evidently the funniest thing the Koreans had ever seen, and sat down while they did their cheesy Korean ballads. I also did "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley, my standard, and also, uninvited, sang the breakout 1980s single "Take On Me" by AHA with Mr. Pok, which was funny because that was the first song I ever did at karaoke, years ago, on my 22nd birthday in Portland. So, after another hour or two and too many beers later, we all left, and I walked home, stopping at the store for orange juice before coming home and literally falling into bed.

I think I'm going to like it here.

Happy Trails!

YES! I Don't Have Tuberculosis!

So...its a very funny thing for my students to call one another a terrorist, and call me a terrorist. I think its quite funny as well. A typical example is a student, or four, raising their hands, yelling "TEACHER! TEACHER! TEACHER! TEACHER! HE IS TERRORIST!" (while pointing to classmate). This is followed by hysterical laughter and several more attempts of different classmates to brand each other as said villain. This is one of the many ways by which my students amuse themselves, and I seem to be the grand comedic adjudicant, presiding over each un-funny, shouted exclamation with the usual "very funny guys, very funny. Now, can we all turn to page 64 in our workbooks?" It is INSANE how many times one must tell a child to do something incredibly simple. Of course, I command far less respect out of them, as I am a weird, oafish, brown-headed, corn dog eating American, and cannot expect to zone them into the lessons like a Korean, or at least Asian, man could. But, since I have a degree in Comparative Religion and Anthropology and what the hell ever from a tiny hippie summer camp for smart, passionate people, I am a valuable commodity, to the school, and to the parents who pay dearly for their children's English classes. Funny how that works.

Today went well. The teaching is coming along easier everyday, as is the deliberative ordering of food from the cafe across the street that I eat lunch at everyday before work. I have become addicted to this dish called "dosa ibeembop" (no clue what it means) which is like a steaming bowl of shredded cucumbers, cabbage, kale, egg, hot sauce, rice, and bean sprouts. Said dish is preceded by kim-chi and a particularly Korean permutation of miso soup, with constant glasses of water to counteract the dynamite hot sauce on EVERYTHING. I love it. I read 2012: Essays in Transformation over this steaming bowl of goodness everyday before work, making sure to exercise the newly acquired skill of keeping my tie out of my food constantly.

A good piece of news today: I passed my medical test! I had to get my blood, urine, and x-ray taken last thursday in order to obtain my Alien Registration Card, a necessary implement for the opening of a bank account, and legal residence in the country for longer than thirty days. No narcotics, or life-threatening diseases were found in my system. So, NEVER TRUST A KOREAN DOCTOR. So excited that now, finally, all of the hoops have been successfully jumped through, and I am officially a legal resident of this great country, if only for a year. I can even get a cell phone, finally!

I am meeting up with Jason, my friend from Portland, in about twenty minutes. We are going to go to the bar where the fish eat off of your feet, because for some inexplicable, bizarre, disgusting reason, I like it. And it makes my feet feel cleaner than they ever would otherwise. But, on the whole, I am getting very much used to my neighborhood, and my job, and this city.

I have been listening today to Tori Amos, Tomahawk, and the Psychedelic Furs, as well as NPR and BBC World News Service. Life is good. My belly is full, and my head is clear, or as clear as it evidently needs to be.

Well, I am out into the rainy Busan night-- to get my feet nipped at by weird little fish and for copious amounts of cheap Korean beer and fermented cabbage! So weird. And I don't even really know what culture shock is! I love this shit!

Life is real nice.

I love you, dear reader, and I wish you were here with me!

Happy Trails!