I Am Made Of Chalk

Lou and I got into a pillow fight at the bar after we attended International Pillow Fight Day a few weeks ago. Proof:

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Mike Hunt

What an amusing post title! Today after work, my three Korean, female co-workers and I were talking about swear words in the English language. This scene was the result of Aaron, the other American kindergarten teacher, and I talking to one of the girls, Chloe, earlier in the day and telling her some choice English phrases she could use to express frustration and anger at the workplace: It’s fucked up! or This is shitty! I also taught Chloe how to call Aaron an asshole.

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Go Long

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Do you know why my ankles are bound in gauze? – Joanna Newsom

Joanna’s are because she is the greatest poet, songwriter, artist, woman, well, hell, let’s just say thing, ever. Mine are because I just ran forty-two kilometers in the Seoul Marathon. Actually, my ankles are fine. I’m just bad at introductions. Let me give you a list of creeped out women’s names from my phone as references. Anyhow…

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Have One On Me

This post will mostly be pictures. It will document the Sunday Funday I had with my friends wherein (after I ran a manly twelve miles) we drank a healthy amount of soju and beer and danced and sang in a dark, cramped room, got Thai massages, and ate a large quantity of beef.

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Remember that old line of verse, Pizza in the morning/ Pizza in the evening/ Pizza at suppertime? I believe Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote that one after a weeklong bender’s hangover was cured by a fine lass and a large ‘za from Papa John’s. (The second verse was something like, Whores in the morning/ Whores in the evening/ Herpes at suppertime.) Well, he (or whoever) was so right. I’ve figured out that there is no better breakfast than a cup of coffee and a couple slices of the good stuff.

“How did you learn this?” you surely ask. For snack time this morning, the children and I were given slices of pizza, and I had a cup of coffee from Paris Baguette* to accompany the food. This snack time looked especially promising, since one of the four children in my class did not want her slice of ‘za. So, let’s do the math: five slices, and only four individuals want theirs. That means good ol’ Mike Teacher gets two. Sweet serenity.

I quickly finished my first child-sized slice and my fingers were mere centimeters away from meeting that awesome combination of crust, sauce, cheese, and toppings. Suddenly, a tiny voice piped in:

“Teacher, can I have pizza?” Annie asked.

My heart sank. I’ve never so wanted to violently throttle a child. (Just kidding! Of course I’ve wanted to violently throttle children much more on previous occasions. Why, just yesterday, I was dreaming of what it would be like to have these two annoying children tossed down a flight of stairs. A flight of fancy is what it would be like.) I reluctantly gave the last slice of pizza to Annie. As I watched her eat what was rightfully mine, delighted with the perfect mixture of tastes that only comes with pizza, my heart rose up to its original place (a quarter-inch above my greedy stomach); I had learned a lesson. As satisfying as it is to enjoy a slice of pizza on one’s own, it is rewarding just the same to see another person partake in such satiation. Pizza: the greatest teacher the world has ever known.

*Three or four of the five days a week that I work, I stop in at Paris Baguette to get coffee. I always just get the Cafe Americano, because it is the closest thing to a regular cup of coffee. I think the women who work there at first found it funny, kind of charming, and maybe even somewhat admirable, that here I was, an American myself, always ordering the drink of my homeland. Lately though, I think they’ve just started mocking me to each other in their indecipherable language when I am there.

The Basketball Diaries

I haven’t been on many new adventures in Korea lately. Same same but different, pretty much, for the last month or so. But this weekend changed that. After a hectic Friday (which included running eight miles to start the night out, and then staying awake and singing karaoke until 8:30 in the morning Saturday) and a dull Saturday (lying in bed for literally the entire day), Sunday promised a fling to remember. I started the day with a miserable 14-mile run, but things picked up from there. Firstly, the gimbop I ate sweetened my spirits (god bless bacon and tuna, the sacred meats of our wisest ancestors). Then, it was off to a basketball game, Korean-style.

The home team's logo.

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Guaraldi

This post is basically old news by now, since it concerns stuff that happened a month ago, but since I was chipping away at it for a while, I didn’t want to just trash it. This is about my first impressions of my job, Christmas and (briefly) NYE 2009. It’s a pretty long post, so pull up a chair and pour yourself a nice glass of lemonade. Maybe take a break and do a crossword puzzle if you get tired. **Bonus points to anyone who knows the significance of this post’s title.**

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