Why students should never know where their teacher lives

I spent last weekend fairly determined to do nothing productive or healthy. One of the consequences of traveling around the country to see the friends I hadn't seen in a while is that I was away from Cheongju and my remaining friends here for a few weeks. I got to miss them.


I went out Friday night. It wasn't anything too ridiculous or out of the norm; it was a normal Friday. Amanda and I went to Pearl Jam.

Pearl Jam is the homeliest of the handful of foreigner bars and it also serves the most decent food. This is something I do not know for sure as I have not indulged in any of the food at Buzz or MJ's, but Pearl Jam burritos trump Road King Burritos. These things become important to a guy.

We played Jenga until my burrito arrived. By the time I had finished my food (maybe 45 seconds after the plate was put before me; I was hungry and I had the shakes) we were joined by Gavin, Robyn, et al.

We drank, talked, and joked our way from Pearl Jam to MJ's.

The only thing I really like about MJ's is decent popcorn, and a 2 hour happy hour with 2,000won gin and tonics.

My opinion of the place rises in warm weather after the roof deck is opened and you can hangout in the fresh air above the city. The weather in Korea is warming up but the roof hasn't been cleaned and it still looks like it has been hit by a series of tornados.

I left in control of my senses at around 2am. Not too late all things considering. I could have gone to bed and woken up to a glorious gray and misty day and done something productive in the morning.

I didn't.

I went back to my apartment and played Xbox with my friends and drank some soju I had in my fridge. I went to sleep at 5am.

Still, not horrible.

What is horrible is being woken up by pounding on the door.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and decided to do nothing. The most serious thing at my door at the early hour of 1pm was a repair man or somebody else on official apartment business. The knocking came again. My apartment was a disaster anyway. I had been trying to get rid of things the past week and with the clothing and general clutter I looked like a hoarder.

Most likely scenario was the ever common Jehovah's Witness; a scenario I didn't really feel like dealing with. The worst case scenario would have been ---

"THOMAS TEACHER!"

Oh shit.

It was Ji-Huan.

Hearing his voice startled me, but there was no reason for me to be bothered. He knocked again and shouted my name, with the addition of "teacher" despite my current state of hiding, hungover, in my own filthy apartment waiting for a 10 year old to go away.

He shouted again.  Everytime the boy says my home, including in school, he says it with this manic crescendo at the end.  Usually I think it is funny.

Eventually I heard Ji-Huan begin to turn my door knob.  It was ever so slowly and subtly but it made a distinct sound. 

"That sneaky ... little... ohdeargod."  At this point I realize two things:

1.  I am butt-ass naked.
2.  I forgot to lock my door.

Several scenarios went through my head and none of them ended without one of us being traumatized or in jail.  I stopped breathing for a few seconds.  I might have prayed.  Anyway, in those few seconds I decided my only plan of action was, if he came in, to spring up with my blanket open and in front of me, wrap him up, and push him right back out the door.  With a bit of luck he would think it was part of a game and even if he didn't I was ok with the idea of Ji-Huan being a little confused for a few minutes.

To ruin the story he turned the handle and walked away. 

On Monday he told me that he came by to my apartment to visit and I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.

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South Korea vs. Greece

I come from a place that, with very few exceptions, does not pay very much attention to soccer. Why is this? I don’t know. It seems that the vast majority has spent a long time playing youth soccer; I know I did. Every year my parents signed me up for soccer regardless of how much I complained. My skills never developed beyond that of kicking a ball as hard as I could. Where it went I never was in much control of. During games that seemed to take up way too many early weekend hours I would generally just wail the ball in the general direction of the other goal. I never had any hope that I would ever get a goal, I just more or less wanted to get the ball away from me. I kicked the ball so it would be somebody else’s problem.


My soccer team did pretty well one year despite the fact that I was on the team. We were in the “Shrewsbury Championship” and I single handedly lost that game. The other team had a corner kick that was headed in my general direction. For some stupid reason I felt the sudden and uncharacteristic need to be impressive and tried to hit the ball with my head. I connected and the ball took a funny hop right over our goalie and into the net. It really was a perfect shot and it was my only goal.

Another time I found myself in a one on one shuffle to get possession of the ball. I was young and scared of the ball and I just wanted it to be over. I remember twisting my body and changing the dynamics of the action so now I had more control of the ball and the other player was at my back. Why the next thing happened I don’t know. Maybe it was nerves or maybe it was excitement but the second I got control of the ball and the other player fell into my back and I let fly the loudest fart of my young life. I remember kicking the ball away and looking back at the kid hoping he didn’t notice but there he stood in hysterics. It was the best soccer play of my life.

South Korea DOES care about soccer and it is not their general practice to fart on their opponents. A few days ago South Korea took on Greece in their first matching in the World Cup.

Over the past couple of weeks, Korea has become consumed with World Cup fever. Each day leading up to that game there would be more red shirts on the street and bars seemed to fill with the red devils. When Saturday finally arrive it seemed rightfully so to be the quiet before the storm.

I watched most of the game via live stream in my apartment. The moment the teams took the field the video became completely unnecessary. When South Korea came out all of Korea rumbled. Each attempt on a goal was a crescendo of muffled screaming and pounding. When Korea scored the place simply erupted.

There was panic in the reactions to attempts made by Greece. Often there could be heard sudden shrieks and Korean obscenities coming from the apartments above my own. At one point I opened the sliding door of my terrace and you could hear the commotion on the balcony of the restaurant a block or so away.

At some point later in the game I went for a walk. If the sound of satellite crowds in my apartment was impressive, the sound on the Korean streets was amazing. I walked through back streets that would have been deserted or otherwise populated by drunks; but everywhere a kid ran across the street of families hurried back to whatever TV they were watching. Bars were jammed chock full while other restaurants were dead, the only light coming from the glow of a tiny TV surrounded by waiters and cooks that didn’t mind the slow night.

In a dark side street that brings you to the main drag and then to Downtown individual apartment complexes erupted in rapid succession. Korea took the victory and the red devils poured out restaurants and bars on their way to other bars. Cars drove by wailing on their horns and every which way red light-up headbands flickered in the night.

I spoke with Sun Young on the phone. While she wanted Korea to win she admitted to hoping that Greece would continue on for another round. We spent so little time in those mountains but there will always be a connection she said.

So, I walked home with a bunch of food that I didn’t need surrounded by a sea of red. It reminded me of living in downtown Boston in October 2004.

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