My Goddard Thesis Presentation is Now Online for Your Viewing Pleasure

I just uploaded to Google Video my thesis presentation I did to graduate from Goddard College in February, 2008. It is entitled "Initiation in Light of Religion, Ritual, Mythology, the Tarot, and the Spiritus." It explores the phenomenon of initiation within religion, the occult, mythology, the tarot and yoga. It's fairly sloppy in many parts, but it generally presents the main idea, which is that all true spiritual paths, like rivers, find themselves, sooner or later, dissolved into the ocean of Divine Consciousness. Humankind has always looked to the blackness beyond the stars and wondered the reason for our earthly existence. The variegated spiritual traditions of the globe are and have always been technologies for reaching higher states of consciousness, which peculiarly place us within the direct presence of what we have always called Spirit, or the Absolute, or God. I define initiation here as the absolutely unique and individual process of gradual illumination and inner unfolding of spiritual awareness and expanded consciousness within the human, usually marked by custom, symbolism, ritual, altered states of consciousness, ecstatic or ascetic practice, the ingestion of entheogenic substances, or any other technology available. It is that process which I investigated in my thesis, and that is investigated in this presentation. It would have been much more lucid and orderly if I hadn't been up all night snorting Klonopin and chugging Franzia with a psychotic yet gorgeous stranger the night before. Enjoy!

Happy Trails!

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!

A Morning Spent With My Feet in the Sand

It was a weird dream. Ive had permutations of it a couple times. Again, my entire extended family were gathered in some sort of party, for me. My cousins, dead grandparents, closest friends, and mere acquaintances I haven't seen in years were all toasting to me and emptying crockpots full of miniature hot dogs and queso dip. Wiping off any attempt to get all Carl Jung on my unconscious out of my eyes, I made a solemn decision to take the day by the balls and swung my legs out of bed and stepped into the bathroom for a well-earned pissing. It had been another late night, without any media besides the eighty channels of korean tv broadcast into my television, as I had no power converter for my laptop, once again (I finally got one today, for just fifteen dollars!) Korean TV is horrible, absolute trash. Even the cooking shows will disgust. They put LIVE SQUID into those pots of boiling vegetables. They keep squirming through the commercial break. That's nothing anyone should have to get used to. Cooking shows in the states are all about creature comforts...in Korea...not so much. AHHHH!!!!! Please excuse the awful pun!

I discovered that I once again had no hot water, so, foregoing the shower, decided to forego the daily routine of a pot of green tea and stuffed my work clothes in the backpack and ducked out into the streets, to go to the beach for the first time. Now, I have been to the ocean here, but it wasn't the beach, the fun, party beach with sand and umbrellas and corn dogs. i had heard which subway station it was at, so I found my way there and rode over. It was a distance of nine stops, about 15 minutes. On the way I listened to the newest episode of my favorite podcast, the Viking Youth Power Hour, at www.thefeedlot.org

When I got to the stop I went up to the street and spotted the likely place for the beach, namely where the horizon became an empty, azure void. Always a good clue. After finding it and seeing its expanse, my cells expanded and contracted in earthly ecstasy. I have always loved being near an ocean. Its the only way I have ever connected with nature. I absolutely love it. Sometimes, it makes me cry. It did today. But I didn't. Crying in front of complete strangers is like shitting or being naked in front of absolute strangers, so I wept on the inside, with complete abandon, so overwhelmed and excited to be in such a beautiful place. I was listening to an amazing interview Timothy Leary did with a Berkeley radio station in 1966. It was so touching...my feet in the sand, a cold Sapporo resting in my hand, and my eyes gazing out over that cerulean beauty that is the Pacific seen from a new perspective.

Of course, it was Tuesday, and I had to be at work at 1:30, and I hadn't given myself time to swim or anything. Plus, I didn't bring my shorts, and I would have frozen my nuts off. But, it was a transcendent several moments. I finally got up and made my way back to the subway, back to Kyungsung (my neck of the woods), and got a bowl of "ibeembopp", a bowl of fresh veggies, rice, hot sauce, and a couple eggs, for lunch, across the street from the school I teach at. For three bucks! And it came with soup and kim-chi! Nuts! I love the food here, a good counteractment to all the McDonald's I ate in Kansas City in the month before I left. I am going to be so healthy in just a week or two.

Teaching went well today. I drank too much coffee and sweated visibly in front of everyone, and had to punish a particular class clown, an action which I hate, and feel like a hypocrite over, as I spent many years reveling in being one, but it was OK. We had a talk after class and I assured him that I liked him and that his life would be great, but that while in class, for one asinine reason or another decided by neither of us, he would have to obey me. He understood. He's a great kid, James.

I am learning so much by being out here, teaching these kids, dealing with all this new shit, etc. Its great. A dream. But a real one. I am sitting here, about to eat a hardboiled egg, read a book on the Mayan Calender, and go to sleep, hopefully soon. I am eager to be rid of these perpetual bags under the eyes.

I am going back to the beach in the morning, with more Timothy Leary on the ipod. What a nice routine. What a nice new thing to have to do, remembering that two months ago I was sharing an RV with a friend in the backyard of a hostile neighbor, with no place to shower.

And to think, now I wear a tie to work.

Happy Trails!

That Beach and I Are Friends Now

Yesterday, around noon, I met up with my friend from Portland, Jason, who has been here for several months. I was supposed to meet him at a Starbucks by a particular subway station. After arriving up on the street from the subway, I couldn't find the Starbucks! I was kind of frantically running around trying to find it, not wanting to be too late, as I had no good idea of what time it was. It was useless to try to ask people in the street where it was because none of them seemed to know what I was talking about, but just as I was trying to not freak out, one of my coworkers from school tapped me on the shoulder. Weird! I'm waltzing around lost in a city of four million, I just got here less than a week ago, and I run into one of the half dozen people I know, right when I need some help! Thank you, Lord. So he pointed me to the coffeeshop, and soon after Jason arrived. I hadn't seen him since september, and it was good to catch up, chat about all things Portland, and hear how his time was going here. We left that disgusting, ubiquitous monument of American commerce and stopped into a noodle shop to grab some food before going to the beach. Well, I thought it would be a beach. We didn't go to the beach where there is sand and people hanging out and sipping mojitos in the sun under umbrellas, but rather a more secluded area where the ocean is met by fierce cliffs and rocky outcroppings. We walked to an area about two blocks from the school I teach at, and there were these little steps, leading up what is for all intents and purposes a mountain. I am glad I have sturdy shoes, because we hiked for at least two miles, and I was heaving like an 800 pound gorilla, sweating like a fat kid. The trail led up through a foresty area for awhile until we got over it, and hiked down to the water. It was very physically demanding- I haven't done anything remotely athletic in a LONG time. But finally we got to where we could see the water.

It was insanely beautiful. Like a travel magazine. We were able to hike down to where the rock met the water, and watch the surf come in. There were all of this barbwire and foxholes left over from the Korean war, ostensibly so that if war breaks out again, they have the necessary infrastructure already in place. It was so amazing, like 70 degrees, sunny, breezy, salty, gorgeous. I had been missing the ocean dearly for so long, and this was such a new angle to be viewing it from! I loved it. We sat there for about an hour and shot the bull and scoped the place out. It will be perfect for setting up a grill and having a little American style barbeque once it gets hot enough. I wanted to jump in so bad but I had no shorts. We hiked up out of there by another route and finally got back to the part of the city with concrete and stoplights and cars. Jason took off to go to something, and I hung out at the apartment for several hours, writing and catching up on the world's news. All the kids I know were out for valentine's day, and I thanked myself for being, on that one day, that awful holiday I have always had some inexplicable hatred for, single.

I decided to go out and stroll about town in the hip neighborhood I live in. I went to this bar I had gone to briefly the previous night, where lots of westerners hang out. I ordered a rum coke and mulled over a book at the bar for a little while, then noticed two white kids sitting across the bar, speaking english. A definite rarity! I walked up and sat down beside them, as seems to be the ritual when you see other white people here. One of them was from Newfoundland, and the other was, from all places, Columbia, Missouri! Small world (excuse the necessary cliche, please). They were very cool, and it turns out that the Missouri kid new some roommates I lived with this summer in Portland who were also from Columbia. Weird! The Missouri kid had to take off but the Newfie (slang for a Newfoundland person) and I went to this other bar where they have a pool table. He was very cool, Chris was his name, and we talked about all sorts of stuff. We later went to a place where he said there was live jazz music, and saw a good little performance. After exchanging information and plans to meet up again, I ambled off back towards home, stopping by McDonalds on the way and exercising enough dexterity and hunger to eat two Big Macs WHILE WALKING BRISKLY and quickly fell into bed, checked out for the night. It was great. I awoke today and laid in bed for a couple hours, watching msnbc.com videos and drinking green tea.

I am about to go out with some kids from my building, to hit up some arcades. They have crazy arcades here. They're like Disneyland. Tomorrow I start my first full week of teaching, and I look forward to the necktie chafe.

Isn't that weird?!

Get awesome, and stay gold.

Wait...the HILL is Teaching People Things?!

Today will be my third day of teaching. Nothing could have prepared me for the challenges I would face, or the joys I would find, by teaching six to eleven year-old Koreans the nuances of English. Like, when I am trying to get them to do something hilariously simple like open a book to a certain page, and they defiantly and insidiously glare back at me, chuckling in their native tongue, obviously making fun of my phony seriousness and inexperience, requiring seven or eight more demands for the accomplishment of said action. And, on the other hand, when I am teaching the difference between the usage of "was" and "is" in a sentence, and I stand by a child at their desk, who is obviously frustrated and dearly wanting to complete an exercise correctly, struggling to achieve despite the banal pressure of the classroom dynamic and acute attention from a very large and foreign teacher, they slowly utter the correct answer and I can say "Yes! Right! Very good!", and they beam with such genuine self-satisfaction. That is the BEST.

Basically, over the past few days, I have had a couple horrific, nearly unmanageable classes, and also many that went swimmingly and delightfully. I teach six 45 min. classes a day. Two of them are to 5-6 year olds who are learning things like colors and pronunciation. Two others are to 7-8 year olds which deal with more complex items such as different kinds of food, and handwriting. The other two are more involving, to 9-11 year olds, where short stories are read aloud, comparisons and contrasts, key details, and detailed attendances like writing a paragraph summary of the story and locating pertinent details within.

For the most part, the kids are shy but receptive, and once positively encouraged, seem to enjoy going through the exercises in the lessons. Its obvious that my novel and exotic appearance intimidate and sometimes mystify them, but the more I act like my goofball self, wildly gesticulate and animate my words, they drop their cautious facade, and begin to participate in a way that is most enjoyable for everyone. They're real funny. Some of them are very involved, and some almost invisible. Both genders are to be found equally within both the former and latter category. I have found that if there is a majority of boys, then they will act out and try to wrest control of the proceedings from me. Its the same for girls, if they are a majority. There are only a couple students out of the six classes I have that make it their purpose during class to grate my nerves, and when this happens, I can see the heavens opening up, and the gods bent over in cacophanous laughter at this fierce, yet just, karmic dealing. Jove, Hermes, Yahweh, Kali, Zappa, and Freya all grin down at me, poking, jeering, shouting "Yeah? You like how that feels, bitch? You like that?!" But, overall, things are fine with this new profession of mine. I received absolutely zero training here at the school, which has definitely been a problem, but I am getting by.

All of my coworkers are very cool. There are about a dozen Koreans, and five other American/Canadians. I live in the same building with all of the westerners, and from the get-go they have been totally generous about helping me out and showing me around, showing me how to eat the food, what soju NOT to buy, letting me borrow their power converters to charge my laptop, and just being very inviting, friendly, and cool.

I am enjoying a delicious breakfast of orange juice, green tea, two friend eggs and rice, with Dvorak on the internet radio (my connection is lighting fast) and a beautiful, rainy city to gaze out upon. Its nice to finally love my life again.

Thank you, Lord...Thank you, Lord....

My feet feel like two little kings

Tonight was one of the most interesting, and fun, nights of my life. I got into Busan around 4:30, clearing customs with flying colors and luckily picking up my suitcase from the baggage claim. As I walked into the part of the airport where people wait to pick you up, I was immediately approached by a young korean woman, asking if I was "Mr. Andrew Wayne Hill?" Of course I am! I exchanged all my american money and we hurried out to a cab that was waiting for us. The cab rumbled along through the predictably chaotic Busan traffic. We attempted light conversation
but her english was bad, and I was honestly so excited and beside myself that I had a hard time talking about my favorite food and what kansas is like. We went right to the school I will be teaching at, and they told me that I would be sitting in on three classes, until about 8:30. OK! I was totally jetlagged and still dearly missing sleep but I didn't care. My escort from the recruiting agency took my backpack and suitcase to my new place, giving me the door codes and promising me that someone from the school would take me there. The school is real swanky, all new
and simple and clean. The classes seem manageable. The kids are all pretty sharp and very animated and better at english than I thought they would be. After the classes were over I went with a new coworker to the apartment building that we both live at. Turns out, my building is ALL foreigners, mostly english speaking, and supposedly the environment is more like a college dorm than an apartment building. I got up to my room, and unpacked my things and put sheets on the bed, washing my face and doing some after-flight hatha yoga. I met Nick back downstairs in his room, as we were
going out to meet two of our other coworkers for kim-chi and soju (this disgusting but manageable korean beverage which is like watered down vodka and jet fuel). We walked through the streets and I really couldn't believe my eyes. I mean...I've been to New York, and Los Angeles, but this place is UNREAL. Neon lights line every street, and even the alleyways, barely big enough to fit a car through, are crammed with bars, restaurants, convenience stores, you name it, all stacked on top of one another. Besides the ass and foul fish smell permeating every turn, its really quite a beautiful street. Cars run red lights all over the place, old men zoom by on mopeds, people are everywhere, and there is food and beverage to be found everywhere you can glance. I bought a fried prawn on the way to meet them, just for the hell of it. Delicious. We met the other kids at this place, where they had a grill on the
table, and they brought out all this food, TONS of pork and kim-chi and tofu and assorted veggies. All very delicious.

After dinner, we went to this bar which is like a "health center." the kids i was with mentioned it at dinner. you go there and put your feet in water full of fish which...SUCK THE DEAD SKIN OFF OF YOUR FEET. no kidding! i insisted that we go. so we walked over. inside, there is this large wooden platform that takes up half of the room. lining it is this canal with water running through, full of all these little sucker fish, like the kind that look like tiny sharks that suck the algae off the inside of your tank. we ordered beer and soju and took our shoes and socks off, rolling our pantlegs off. after rinsing our feet off in these sinks on the platform,
we sat down, lowering our feet into the water. words fail to explain the sensation of dozens of little minnow-like fish nibbling all over your feet, inbetween your toes, your ankles, all over. for the first couple of minutes, i thought i was going to soil myself it was so...bizarre. my friend told me "you'll probably bleed. i usually do." i didn't start bleeding, but i got out after about ten minutes. i felt sorry for the fish...i was really surprised when they weren't all floating at the top of the water.

i washed my feet again in a tub of water full of essential oils. they have never felt so cared for, so clean, so blessed. after a year of hardley ever even taking my shoes off, this was a much needed event. i have to say that i will be going back there soon, and will make a habit of it.

afterwards, we finished our drinks and ambled along our way towards the apartment building, passing a karoake bar on the way. we went in, and i pulverized everyone in there with a near perfect performance of "Never Gonna Give You Up" by rick astley. I didn't even need to look at the screen for the lyrics...to the chagrin of those who
came in with me. when we all finished singing bad 80's songs and embarassing ourselves, we went home.

Last night, I got the best sleep I have had in the last six months. I woke up this morning, having finally killed the jetlag and weeks of restlessness, and went out for a cup of coffee. I sit here now, catching up on the world and waking up. I love it here. This city is beautiful. The country is beautiful. My job seems awesome.

Months of darkness have passed and the clouds seem to be dissipating, letting in some much needed light.

Talk to you all soon!

Happy trails!

Still no sleep, but I've got Japanese Soap Operas to Watch

5:10 am, Monday

I have been awake for about two hours now, watching television and rehydrating myself. I got into tokyo last night
around 7, went through customs and got on a bus to the hotel with about thirty other people that also missed their
connections. The hotel is really swanky-- I can't imagine getting a voucher for a place like this in america.
I checked in and took my backpack up to my room, falling on the bed and letting out fifteen hours worth of dicomfort.
I was really tired, and felt very weird, like my body had been dropped into another dimension or something. I couldn't
believe I was on a new continent, in a place I had always dreamed of going. They had given me two meal vouchers so I
went down to the restuarant to see what it was like. I wasn't hungry at all, just very curious. I ended up eating
some rice and sushi, and a gross onion soup that tasted like it was made with a powder. After dinner I sauntered
around the hotel, scoping things out. I came up to my room and cracked one of the sapporos my mini fridge is
fortuitously stocked with, watched some BBC news, and passed out. And here I lay, at 5:17 in the morning, eating
ramen noodles and more sapporo, watching more BBC. My body has no idea what time it is. I feel like it could be
evening, or morning, or the middle of the day. No way to tell. I'm just so relieved to be here, and to have that
mammoth plane ride over with. I thought I was going to die on that thing.
I really wish I were in the actual city, so that I could go out and explore, versus being out here in the suburbs by
the airport. Oh well...I'll be able to visit tokyo soon enough. I am so excited to go to busan this afternoon.
I miss all of you and I will talk to you soon.
Love, Andy

Sitting in the airport

I am sitting in the airport, about to run out of battery in the laptop. All sorts of strange, foreign feelings welling up within me. All sorts of people I miss. All sorts of excitement all over. I can't wait to actually GET TO korea, to get to my apartment, to start teaching, surfing, walking on the beach, ducking into seedy bars, meeting awesome people. I have been waiting for this to happen for so long...they are just now announcing boarding call for my flight...I will talk to you soon.