The Korea Chronicles, Volume III

April.

It's that time of the year where nature finds itself in the midst of an epic clash, in betwixt two titans - winter and spring - pinned against one another like two sumo wrestlers. The vernal equinox has come and gone like the procession of a parade, with all its trumpets trumpeting, all its drummers drumming, and all its baton swingers swinging baton and stuff; all promising new life to spring forth in the not so distant future. This year, that promise remains to be fulfilled. Outside, the warm sun shines brightly while the cold wind blows harshly; old man spring chuckles and old man winter sneezes. The trees are hesitant to bloom for fear of a sudden freeze. The flowers are hesitant to unfold their beauty for the same reason. A few brave birds sing their songs, but no one listens, for everyone is inside hiding from nature's indecisiveness.


As this struggle for spring silently churns, the author finds himself silently churning within the intestines of a leviathan, in the belly of a whale. What is this leviathan's / whale's name?

Disease, aka "the fungus among us"

A peculiar name for such a beast, I know. And how long have you been wallowing in the depths of this leviathan's bowels / whale's belly?

10 days and counting.

During the last ten days, the author has been largely confined to his bed, lethargic, enervated, and gassier than what some might consider socially acceptable. During these last ten days,

A) hordes of area elementary students have had no tall lanky white man who talks to himself to snicker at as he passes by on his way to work,

B) microphones in the local Karaoke bars have had no one to caress them and sing them 80's power ballads such as "The Final Countdown" / "I Wanna Know What Love Is" / "Baby Got Back", and

C) old Korean ladies on the subways are getting agitated because the supply of white men in which they can shove and elbow in the rib cage has decreased by one.

Interesting. What other non-substantial events have taken place recently?

A litany of events lacking substance have transpired. Allow me to enumerate:

D) The author's washing machine has been on strike for over 3 weeks. Despite many one on one labor negotiations, said washing machine refuses to work on grounds of refusal to wash any more sweaty basketball clothes, calling it inhumane. So, as any manager with its work force on strike would do, I found an alternate work, cheaper force - my own two hands:


I've been washing clothes in the bathroom like this for 3 solid weeks. I'd like to say that it's getting easier. It's not. I miss the miracle of machine washing.

E) Wednesday. There I was taking a heavenly nap after a day of rowing in the galleys when suddenly I heard a rap upon my door. Opening the door to an unsolicited knock in Korea constitutes a huge risk. It could be one of those slick door-to-door oven ventilation filter saleswomen that, one time, convinced me to pay an inordinate amount of cash for a new filter. Naturally, I had my guard up this time.

Nothing to be worried about. It was merely a friendly real estate agent showing my house to potential tenants. Unfortunately, I did not have adequate time to prepare for this visit, and I found myself wearing the one thing I did not want to be caught dead in:



The notorious Kenny Chesney shirt - great for sleeping in, terrible for wearing in social situations. Every occasion the author has accidentally worn this shirt around other human beings, the author has regretted it. The conversation usually ends up with the author on the defensive end explaining how it was given to him by Kenny Chesney's limo driver, an offer he couldn't refuse. Fortunately, the potential tenants didn't seem to perceive this fashion tragedy.

F) Thursday. I awoke from another heavenly nap to find that someone had hacked my Gmail account and sent out over 75 spam Viagra messages to recipients ranging from friends, beloved family members, not-so-beloved old girlfriends, and graduate school admissions officers. I wonder what they think of me now?

G) Friday. I paid a visit to the hospital to replenish my supplies of prescription drugs (and with the ulterior hopes of getting a free enema) . A great success was achieved (with the drugs, not the enema), and with the power of these combined with my sister's mystical Tasmanian tiger urine - abracadabra! Watch out "fungus among us"!

Can I just make one sentimental, heartfelt statement here?

"Woe unto you, nation of peculiar odors! With all of heaven and earth as my witnesses, I hereby declare that Korea will pay dearly for what it has done to me. You have provoked the tempest; you have stirred the hornet's nest; you have incurred the wrath of a mad caucasian man and overturned a boiling pot upon yourself. Woe unto you, Korea!"

That is all.