Jedi Nights

(how many weigookins does it take to drink in public?)

For the first new weekend of oh-seven, I did something a little different and actually got out of Seoul for a night. That was great because I had a great weekend and it's been far too long since I've been out of the city middle.

Where I went however, was a little place called Suji, about an hour south of Seoul by subway. Cahill lives there, 'next to the smokestacks' which is an indicative landmark, really. Suji isn't like Seoul - it's not quite the neon splash of madness and insomnia that gives Seoul its charm. Mind you, it's still Korea, so it's still neon, and it's still mad, just not quite the same as Seoul.

The night was mad in a way I don't always get to see in Seoul, though. The dynamics of the foreign teacher subculture is different outside of Seoul. We went to a house party (at a quite nice apartment, no less) and it was quite surreal to be around 20 or so people with hardly a Korean in sight. There's even a certain discomfort being in a room where you know you're no different for being white and speaking English.

From the crowded cube we spilled out into the street and caught cabs to I-don't-quite-know-where and went to this real Irish bar called Dublin, owned by a real Irish guy called... I dunno, I'd say Paddy, if I had to guess.

It was a pretty cool place, and all the accomplices but me and Cahill left after a drink, headed for some dreadful dance joint. Me and Cahill made some fine lemonade of the situation, and introduced ourselves to a table of random foreigners from I-forget-where in the 'States. We talked about Devo and Talking Heads and the delicate science of swearing until daylight.

The bar had this nifty banner with scads of Irish family names written on a map of Ireland. In effect, this looked almost like a banner of Newfoundland names, and I'm sure if anyone from there looks they're sure to find a couple (pun cough) familiar ones, if not their own last name, hanging on some wall in Korea.

Come Sunday, me and Cahill ran face-first into a couple of odd happenings at Subway (the sandwich place, not the train place). First, a guy we met at the party the night before strolled-in and told us that his school just called him, telling him he didn't have to work on Monday. Or ever. Since the school was out of business, and he was now out of a job, and probably soon to be without an apartment. That's the kind of scare teachers sometimes get hit with in Korea. Luckily, I work at a big franchise school, so if they ever shut down, I'd probably at least get a ticket home out of the deal.

The next thing that happened was far funnier, if potentially more damning. When we left Subway, me and Cahill were approached by two Koreans, and I avoided them, smelling what was coming. While we stood waiting for the walk light to change, they came up to Cahill and asked "Do you have rerijun?"

Thinking they were asking for something like money or a cigarette, Cahill asked them to repeat themselves a few times before I signed and said "They're missionaries, Cahill, they're asking if you have religion."

Ice broken, they continued to talk to us in awful, blunt, broken english. On being asked our religious beliefs, Cahill told the ham-handed zealots that we were Jedi. The answer - possibly the best quotation I've heard from any Korean ever - was:

"Jedi? What mean is Jedi?"

Then, with timing that borders on divine intervention, the light changed, and we quickly dodged across the road, holding our too-loud-snickers until we were about three steps away. While it surely guaranteed us our own table at the VIP room in hell, this was easily worth it. For years to come, I'll remember "What mean is Jedi?" and all the world's problems will disappear.

But enough delicious blasphemy back to how Suji sucks. One of the most disappointing things about this dreary, industrial, outlet-shopping chunk of the peninsula was the lack of pojang-makjas, the little street food stands that are bastions of late night booze-snacking.

Booze or not, I've become a big fan of these here in Seoul. I eat dokboki (thick-as-your-thumb spicy rice noodles) from these stands quite often. In fact, at this one place near my house they actually got me to sign their stand this week. I put both my signature and the Hangul spelling of my name there, and now when I show up they say "Anyonghaseyo Mista Petah!" I get quite a kick out of the random stranger Koreans here who have learned my name. On New Year's eve, we were walking down the road, and a woman who owns a bar here (that I've been to about twice) shouted "Hello Petah!" It's strange to get recognized and remembered like that in a city of over 10 million people.

Speaking of that city, I've just got a pretty standard handful of signs and labels here this week. These were, in fact all taken about a minute apart from each other. I just kind of wanted to capture how badly animated Korean animals want you to eat them.


I mean, look at the eagerness on those faces. They want you to know that they're delicious. Somehow, even the squid is giving a thumbs-up to assure you that he tastes excellent. It's a lie on his part, though. The bastard deserves to be turned into a noddle topping for misrepresenting his species as palatable. As Cahill learned from our hastily-purchased convenience store noodles this weekend: squid flavoured anything tastes like shit.