In an unholy burst of productive action last night, I finally managed to finish my recap of our tropical (storm) adventures on Jeju Island many moons ago.
We Do Jeju-do Image Gallery >> Large penis-head statues, crazy dragons, EXTREME botanical gardens and much much more!
[Jeju Island] [Korea] [travel]
Posted by Chris at 11:28 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
June 27, 2006 >> Exit Wound Bleeding Red
As the World Cup marches onwards into the knockout rounds, one very special crimson lovechild has been left behind. At approximately 5:30 am (Seoul time) Saturday, the Swiss handily defeated team Korea and sent them packing from the party. As I wandered home to my bed that morning, little girls wept by the fountain and the new day seemed vaguely taunting with its bright cheery sky.
In class this week, students have plied me with various predictable responses to their nation's disgrace: "Daddy... very angry, go BOOM BOOM!" *pantomimes smashing television set with tiny fists*
They also seem hung up on the idea that the second Swiss goal was offside. Two girls I teach on Sundays told me very earnestly, in carefully planned full sentences, that they would very much like to kill the Argentinean referee who omitted the call. As Mike has pointed out, the fateful pass forward (I'm sure you know what I'm talking about - who isn't deeply vested in Korean soccer??) brushed a Korean defender on its way, rendering the decision accurate but extremely unpopular. Faced with this riposte, most children ignore me and move right onto the next complaint: "Teacher... the Swiss is handling two! Two times handling!" referring, of course, to apparently overlooked hand balls by Switzerland. Basically Korea got outplayed and the nation, as a collective, has fastened onto a universally determined pair of technicalities in order to salve its wounded pride.
The red shirts have diminished but not died completely, nationalism continuing to be a popular fashion trend even in defeat. An awful quality video of City Hall, captured by my aging camera, remembers the happier times: when victory seemed strangely inevitable and the crimson wave was still rushing down to a cerulean shoreline.
[Korea] [World Cup] [Seoul] [City Hall celebration]
Posted by Chris at 08:44 AM >> Commentations (1) | Permalink
June 26, 2006 >> Weightless
Over the past year I have apparently been melting away drip by drip. It's been a slow process, a gradual and unintentional whittling that I've been too busy to notice, but somehow I am thin again. Like high school thin, ew. I've suspected this for some time due to:
a) comments from Westerners back home saying that I am "too skinny" and "eat some chicken or something, man."
b) a glaring absence of my students baldly telling me that I am a fat pig-teacher, and Korean co-workers taking subtle jabs at my perceived bulk.
Korean standards of obesity vary greatly from Western levels of acceptibility... chances are that most of you guys would be considered somewhere between 'very fat' to 'enormously fat', with a select few ranked as 'tremendously fat with a morbid chance of being mistaken for a minibus'. Koreans are generally small framed and rail-thin, although Western-style fast food has begun to take its toll and female dieting is on the rise. Nonetheless, one of the most commonly-cited instances on Dave's ESL Cafe of reverse culture shock is that you'll notice how peculiarly fatass everyone in your native culture seems. This is a skinny, skinny country compared to Canada.
It is admittedly harder for Western females to contend with Korean standards of size than men: I can, at least, compare myself to fat businessmen bloated on booze while Jen and Lisa have trouble finding clothes that fit despite them being the smallest girls I know. The biggest shopping districts in Seoul have a Western section, otherwise known as the fatty-fat XXXL section, to cater to our special needs. Purchasing goods at these oversized distribution depots can understandably be a rather discouraging experience.
Most Western girls in Korea complain that they gain weight - they generally agree that additional poundage is here, and seem to note it constantly. Perhaps the gain is unpleasantly amplified when one is forced to stand next to consistently tiny women on the subway all the time, I dunno. The environment is certainly problematic for those perhaps looking to get away from commercially constructed images of impossible beauty in North America. Westerners are basically, through genetics or hormone-infused beef or drive-thrus or something, the hulking land-whales of the Korean food chain. We bob like puffy, contented flab-balloons down streets overflowing with slippery Korean minnows.
And so, by local standards I am still barely passable as a human being. But when I stepped onto a scale that mysteriously appeared in our teacher's lounge this week, I affirmed that I am but a shadow of my former majestic self. In less than a year I have lost more than twenty pounds. Now you might tell me to shut up and stop bragging, you son of a bitch, but let me assure you that this is more of a lament than a boast. It is infinitely radder to be a tall fat guy than a tall gangly guy, and I have actually been targeting Burger Kings and fried chicken in a spirited attempt to juice myself up.
To no avail. I'm not sure whether chasing kids all day instead of sitting in an office chair counts as 'regular exercise', or maybe a lack of weed has forced me to pursue a more active life, but I am wasting away here. Perhaps I am eating vegetables accidentally, or a magical Korean climate has brought rumbling to life the cogs and wheels of my formerly invincible metabolism. Whatever the cause, this is a distressing return to physical frailty and I live in constant fear that one my students will soon be able to beat me up. For some Korea has served as a bodily inflater, pumping up their guts and thighs and tearing down their self-esteem; for me it's been an involuntary Jenny Craig retreat.
[Korea] [weight] [fat foreigners] [culture shock]
Posted by Chris at 09:46 AM >> Commentations (9) | Permalink
June 21, 2006 >> Korean Kids Attack!
I have been messing around on YouTube for about ten minutes now and have, through the magic of a simplistic interface and mega high-speed connectivity, somehow attached a video to its nervous system.
Look!
A horde of Korean children assault two innocent ESL teachers (Belinda and Sam) outside a hockey game in an apparent act of aggressive xenophobia (which was sorta perpetrated by me, now that I think about it... and watch the video evidence).
[YouTube] [Korean kids attack!]
Posted by Chris at 11:49 AM >> Commentations (1) | Permalink
June 19, 2006 >> Additional Documentation
Ahhh... roughing it in the great outdoors. It's tough work standing in line for your catered meal!
Actually eating a breakfast that consists of kimchi and rice is the real ordeal.
Our award-winning team poster! Notice that 'grey' is not 'gray'... man I got a lot of shit from the kids about that. BLASTED AMERICAN MONOPOLIZATION OF THE LANUAGE!
In Korea, you can't spell 'photography' without 'peace'!
These kids look sad because I absolutely dominated them in goal. I also told them that the Korean national soccer team were after-hours whiskey call girls.
HOLY SHIT I HAVE TO TEACH SCIENCE IN THREE MINUTES AND ALL I HAVE ARE THESE LOUSY PACKAGES OF TINY UNINFLATABLE BALLOONS AND I HAVEN'T READ THE POORLY-TRANSLATED MANUAL OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!
Actually it was pretty simple, I just taught them about pressure and how their tiny lungs didn't have enough of it to blow up the balloons. This backfired when they wanted me to inflate them and I couldn't do it either... nor could the bathroom water tap... I am convinced that these balloons would've only inflated if they were filled with dark matter or a tiny piece of God. The solution in these instances of failure is to say, "Okay, put them in your backpack... Mommy will help you!" and then laugh to yourself because Mommy works too much and she'll probably throw the balloons in the trash when she gets home and the kids are asleep. When they wake up the next day, the sad memories of science class will be replaced by some new horror, probably a hornet flying in the bus window or a scary picture of a cat, and Chris Teacher retains his job against all odds once again!
[Korea] [Herald School Camp] [poorly teaching science]
Posted by Chris at 11:58 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
June 17, 2006 >> Stern Warnings in Rafting
Rafting is for external use only. Rafting should not be consumed with alcohol or goat's milk. All rafting experiences should be undertaken with the express knowledge that an inherent 35% chance of death has been determined by the Surgeon General. Paddles are not toys.
Possible side effects include: falling in river water, drinking copious amounts of river water, crying, sunburns. Do not splash or taunt Korean-manned rafts. They will be rafting as part of a corporate retreat and attempt to build teamwork and camaraderie by rowing you down and attacking with coordinated broadside splashing. Your raft may become severely waterlogged.
When purchasing clothing in Dongdaemun always remember that Koreans are, on average, a rather small people and a Large should be perceived as a Large, but in children's size.
If further elaboration about an average day at Herald School is required, please visit Mike Teacher's page for an extensive treatise on the subject.
When exhausted, pass out.
Posted by Chris at 11:38 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
June 16, 2006 >> Consorting with Devils
World Cup fever is in full swing here and the populace is proudly marching through its days in red T-shirts decrying "Reds Go Together" and "One more time, Korea!" The streets are awash in crimson; subway cars bleed red as they race through the night.
Rabid soccer supporters are widely known as 'Red Devils' and this week we hit Seoul's city center to partake in local satanic rituals. Team Korea was pitted against that mighty African juggernaut, TOGO, for its first World Cup match and anticipation was high. As our train approached City Hall, the colour balance of clothing skewed wildly toward cardinal, and sightings of painted faces increased fiftyfold.
We forced our way through an anthill of activity at the station, passing groups of fans praying, drinking and doing whatever else they felt necessary to ensure national glory. Outside, the streets were jammed with vendors hawking beer, flags and styrofoam pads for sitting on... but there wasn't much room to sit. A glowing sea of crimson, spotted with the soft light of devil horns and noisemakers, spilled out across the sidewalks and into the street. People were balanced on railings and hanging from trees, securing their view for the game that was still two hours off. A myriad of huge televisions were affixed to skyscrapers and corporate head offices up and down the road, dwarfed by still larger advertisements: KTF supports Park Ji-Sung, and you can't possibly forget it!
I found out later that there were 400 000 or so people crammed into the blocks surrounding City Hall. A very believable statistic. The pounding of drums and war cries swept periodically through the streets: Daehan minguk! *clappa-clappa clappa-clappa clap* (Translation: Republic of Korea! clap-clap clap-clap clap. It sounds much lamer in English.) As bios and stats of beloved Korean players swept across the screens, applause and screams greeted them. Togo players were welcomed with hearty boos.
The game underway, a blanket of solidarity covered the city as every zealous witness fervently pushed their hearts towards a single word:
GOAL!!!
Less desirable would be a moment of shocked silence, followed by:
...goal.
which would, of course, signal the unthinkable atrocity of an African achievement. This very thing happened late into the first half, temporarily casting a hush over the massive crowd. Nearby girls covered their faces as the goal was replayed, and freshly belligerent teens clamoured angrily in response to this shocking betrayal. Rallying in the second half, the congregation steadily drummed their support through the crisp night air and, finally, a beautifully netted free kick pulled everyone to their feet, screaming wildly. Hugs were exchanged and minutes later, a second goal was hammered home and the city tore itself apart in ecstasy.
As the final whistle blew and the sky was painted with fireworks and great gouts of flame, an interesting thing happened: in the midst of the celebration, people were kicking garbage and the newspapers they'd been sitting on into piles, effectively cleaning the streets. Mike noted that in London those very newspapers would be used to set huge scarring bonfires. Even while rioting, Koreans seem to be pretty conscientious. We dutifully added our own trash to the mounting piles and set off into the wilds of the mob, blasting fireworks this way and that.
I carried a Canadian flag with me, as I didn't have a Korean one and the red and white of the homeland matched the Red Devil colour scheme rather well. Canadian support was appreciated by most, although I think that if Korea had lost I might've got stomped. We recklessly jumped into drum pits and huge expanding circles of joyous dancers (or stumblers), drinking in the universal upper of victory, and then Sun-hi treacherously shot me with a roman candle. Luckily I fell down, but the flag took the brunt of the damage and was riddled with burns and holes. I sternly told Sun-hi that under Canadian law she could be arrested and beaten with soup ladles for desecrating the flag, and then we watched an exceptionally rowdy subset of the mob surround a car and rock it like the cradle of an unwanted baby.
Overenthusiastic fans crawled over buses like bugs, but wanton destruction was happily kept to a minimum. I'll never understand why fans would sack and torch their own city in triumph. In the context of historical warfare, wouldn't it make more sense to go pillage Togo after defeating their finest warriors? It's a little far away, but still. An age of enforced peace leads to some strange aggressional outlets.
Down in the subway, the trains were as full as I've ever seen them. The system was running two hours past its usual closing time - isn't it great how an entire country can retool its civic services for a sporting event? - but every car was jammed full. People were taking running starts and throwing themselves into the mess of weary, enthused humanity inside. Me and Mike benevolently helped with the pushing, whether our assistance was asked for or not. Three hours, two trains and one taxi later, we were home: breathless, unconscious and nowhere ready to teach the following morning.
But still, some things are more exciting than a good night's sleep.
[World Cup] [Korea vs. Togo] [soccer] [Seoul] [Red Devils]
Posted by Chris at 09:24 AM >> Commentations (0) | Permalink
June 14, 2006 >> Camp Mandatory
In Korea even the best hagwons will step outside contractual boundaries of "work time" and "free time." Bewildered teachers fattened on a Western diet of ironclad labour law are often asked to do various stupid things in addition to teaching, like call students at home to talk about soccer, or make little bear suits for a play. None of this madness is in the contract, of course, but the contract doesn't mean shit. One generally concedes to crazy requests in the interest of not getting spiked in one's hyper-political office by rather gossipy Korean coworkers. And the deprivation of time at a good hagwon is preferable to the deprivation of salary in a less than good hagwon.
Enter the Camp: a fruitful weekend expedition in which select students would magically learn English from getting soccer balls kicked at their faces by white foreigners. Said foreigners would receive minimal compensation for this privilege: they would do it for the kids, and also for many, many bottles of beer. As I loaded this beer onto the bus in full view of concerned parents, I promised them that at least one of their children would die by my drunken hand for having me woken up at 9 am on a Saturday.
Upon arrival, the Camp turned out to not be a camp at all. It was a house: a beautiful house where children could be jam-packed like immigrant stowaways into attics and small bedrooms. This was good news because immigrants are pretty good at working in factories, and also because it was unseasonably cold and rained all day.
Soggy children crashed up and down stairs and formed cliques and were noisy and generally acted like kids, which was nice because at home they only get to act like students. Because our 'English Camp' had 'English' in the title, and also because the outing was a huge bribe to keep kids at Herald during a time when many parents consider switching hagwons, we eventually had to break the kids into teams for some closely regimented fun. Team K Spyce OK, piloted by yours truly, led the league in apathy and also in cramming large quantities of children behind a bookshelf.
A nearby river was explored, which was shortly discovered to harbour many a sharp and piercing rock beneath its muddy waters. A column of kids gingerly waded their way upstream, picking a route through the worst of the submerged stones. It felt very much like a biblical exodus: a torturous and senseless journey, inescapable because of a large quantity of filthy reeds along the riverbank. Barefoot and crippled, I relied on the kids to tell me where the granddaddy rocks were: "Teacher, is big one...oh no! go here!" *painting a crazy swirl pattern in the air, then shaking head in sadness when I bash my shins and fall into the river*
But then the kids ran across a plague of frogs and all was well in the capture of tiny amphibians. One boy found a dirty piece of styrofoam and floated around happily in innocent toxicity. In their eyes, the river Styx doubled as paradise.
Segue into the talent show later that night, where the winning act was a kid who ripped clothespins off his ears and nose with a flourish and very theatrical expression of pain. A strange talent in a country where virtually every child can play a musical instrument with amazing competence.
Fade to soccer, where Chris the oversized goalie tried to fulfil his promises of infanticide to no avail, given the physical invincibility of 10 year olds. Flash to England versus Paraguay and firing roman candles at windows and a junior trivia contest where 100 000 apparently has six zeros. And finally, Star Wars wipe to a blurry shot of Chris Teacher passed out in the TV room, having skilfully escaped the sad duty of sleeping in the attic suite with 20 insomniac children. Hahaha, Mike you sucker!
At one point, perhaps when I was drunk, I decided that perhaps free-turned-work time wasn't too terrible at all. Chilling with the overlords for a weekend was an strangely engaging, albeit MANDATORY, experience.
[Korean hagwons] [Camp] [MANDATORY trips]
Posted by Chris at 10:24 AM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
June 11, 2006 >> David Lynch, you crazy!
Watching David Lynch's Eraserhead by oneself is a profoundly disturbing and unappealing experience... with crazy stop-motion alien babies and bloody, gyrating roast chickens, it is somewhat like a Tool video without any volume. In fact, watching anything that David Lynch has ever touched is a poor idea unless you have someone you can turn to, with an incredulous and terrified expression, when the going gets weird and the brain twists unpleasantly. And then you can both simultaneously say, "What the fuck??" and laugh nervously, because perhaps one of you gets the convoluted symbolism, but also probably not because David Lynch is a madman. His work is cool but it makes me apprehensive.
Right now I am watching a girl with giant cysts on her cheeks dance on a tiny stage behind a radiator. She smiles needily as she shuffles, smushing mutant sperm under her tap shoes. Alone, it is unpalatable.
And, of course, this film is hailed as 'cinematic genius' which is what everyone says when a movie is either too hideous and awkward or too lengthy to be genuinely enjoyable. In film, art is rarely pleasure. Genius has little replay value.
I am doing that thing where you watch a movie but compulsively and periodically check other open programs and websites on your PC in order to anchor yourself to sanity. I think that in the absence of companionship, nervous fidgeting to survive David Lynch is okay.
[David Lynch] [Eraserhead] [unpleasant movies]
Posted by Chris at 09:53 AM >> Commentations (3) | Permalink
June 08, 2006 >> Splash the internet and we all ripple
It occurs to me that it's difficult, these days, on this here internet.
Writing a personal blog is difficult because we strive to avoid triteness, to draw on our field of interests to generate unique ideas and opinions. Then we're slightly crushed when these opinions have invariably been already posed by more focused websites with a deeper pool of research and specialization. We feel forced to revert back to the everyday specifics of our lives, which lack widespread relevance but at least we can be sure that they're our stories, that they're not already out there somewhere in the cyber-beyond. Somehow, in the infinite freedoms of this enormous public sphere, we have become more conservative and careful of our thought output. Timid before an overwhelming abundance of information, we often revert to the safety of what we know instead of bravely and blindly poking forth into the nuances of the world, perhaps making mistakes, but at least trying to engage. Is there shame in amateurism? The best we can do is shoulder onwards, trying to figure out our role in this wide open place where there is no precedent.
Sharing and remixing mass culture is difficult because there seems to be a hefty divide between the creatives who embrace media and the suits who legislate it. Every day I read about scary new advances in Digital Rights Management, which serves to cripple and severely limit our personal access to music and film. In the interests of preserving industry, groups like the RIAA and MPAA are acting like bulls in the china shop: rushing this way and that to bottle their precious commodity which has somehow escaped onto the internet, throwing up walls in a desperate attempt to recapture control of their 'property.' Consumers, the lifeblood of popular culture, are ironically trampled with blind lawsuits in the process. Disillusioned, the public looks for other places to spend their dollars, the media control lobbyists use the subsequent drop in profit as motivation to attack piracy and the dismantling cycle continues.
It wouldn't be so bad if these legislators had a hand in creating the intellectual property they so avidly pursue absolute power over, because then I might be sympathetic, but they didn't. They run the business, not the culture. Many of their creative clients vehemently oppose their tactics, and the upper echelons of the culture industry must be scared as fuck because, the way things are going, the rigid management of our society's art will quickly become very unprofitable.
We are living in a wonderful age where the multi-million dollar fluffy blockbuster will slowly become extinct, where indie film makers will begin to seriously challenge the industry with $100 000 and a good idea (which are in relatively short supply in Hollywood these days). The citizenry is beginning to catch on to the amazing concept that we can actually create and consume our own culture. The popularity of public domain sites like YouTube.com have already begun to demonstrate that we are willing to circumvent the networks to enjoy ourselves. The explosion of private blogging on every topic imaginable shows that we are fully prepared to research, write and selectively consume knowledge of the world - and not necessarily from transnationally established sources. Sure, we create senseless garbage as often as not, but it blows my mind how lucky humanity is right now to have so much opportunity to explore, to share, to learn from each other.
And so, given this incredible paradigm shift in progress, it seems almost criminal to engage dirty weapons like intellectual property law and copyright to stint it. Now I know profitability ensures growth, that money encourages creation, and these bitches need to get paid. But how come the management gets paid too? They didn't do shit, other than leverage their connections to negotiate the crazy web of bureaucratic handshaking that, to me, seem to actively prevent new culture from emerging. This system is expendable. It's getting that way.
It is this bureaucracy that tightens the noose of the law to preserve its own life, that spawns tragic propaganda like Captain Copyright in a vain attempt to convince the public that regulation is more important than the content it protects. Captain Copyright helpfully suggests that that teachers instruct their students to draft up permission request forms and copyright pages. Oh, and if there's time, they can write a story worth copyrighting too. Incidentally, the hilariously lame and unoriginal Captain Copyright superhero may be, himself, a violation because Marvel Comics is attempting to claim copyright over the term "superhero," and perhaps all muscular men in spandex suits as well.
Yes, my friends, we live in an exciting, lightning-paced and often absurd section of the great civilization timeline, and it's grand in scale and ludicrously hard to encompass. While I have left gaping holes throughout, I am still enthused and feel genuinely grateful, in a strange twist of passion, to have been given a chance to respond to the world with my own overdramatic words. You can find a goddamn copyright news blog if you want better information: that is your amazingly simple and lucky prerogative. Just don't ever take this liberty for granted. The internet is fucking awesome.
And that's today's dip in a deep, deep pool.
[copyright] [public sphere] [internet culture] [media control]
Posted by Chris at 09:44 AM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
June 06, 2006 >> 666 & Jenny Antichrist
Wow, it's 666... but for me it's not, because it's currently 766 or 676 or however those numbers are supposed to be arranged. The point is that nobody gives a damn about two sixes but when that third 6 creeps in, darkness erupts from the earth and Satan flies in on a hoverboard playing air guitar. It's lucky my webpage is still configured for 666 Toronto time or I wouldn't have been able to participate in this very special chapter of Revelations.
666 was also the esteemable Jen's birthday, and the thought just struck me that one of my best friends may be the Antichrist. Wouldn't that be so chic of the devil, siring a tiny rabid pothead as an implement of the world's ultimate downfall? I'd like to say that her eyes glowed with hellfire all night, but I think they were just glazed with tequila. I checked the clock after I got home from her celebration and it was - yup - 6 am. Does four sixes mean anything special? Like maybe the fourth six means it's time for aquatic monkeys to ravage the lowlands. I have to check my Bible, it's been a while. Anyway, happy bloggy birthday wishes to Satan Jr.!
Let somebody else take care of the conspiracy theory.
Posted by Chris at 11:05 AM >> Commentations (2) | Permalink
>> K1 World GP: Choi Man Invincible Face
On Saturday we went to the K1 World GP at an Olympic Stadium. Not the same Olympic Stadium that we saw James Brown at, but one inconveniently even further away. Who knew hosting the Olympics required so many stadiums? At least they're still being put to good use, unlike the skeleton World Cup arenas scattered across Korea. Those aren't doing shit anymore.
For those of you not in the know, K1 is a popular kickboxing circuit mostly based in Asia. Fighters from all over the world are invited to compete, provided they are somewhat good at kicking and/or boxing. Our proximity to the ring actually exceeded my expectations: we weren't exactly adjacent, but we were 3x Digital Zoom close! Not bad for thirty bucks.
The event was punctuated with blinding lasers, scary pyrotechnics and hip hop entrance songs for each fighter. One bald Chinese fellow, perhaps erroneously, selected early 90's techno hit "It's a Beautiful Life" as his entrance music. This had the immediate effect of making him seem like a pansy in a chiffon robe, whereas if he had chosen Biggie he could've been a Shaolin Pimp of Infinite Complacency.
In the preliminary matches we saw the following:
-fat marshmallow punching bags, dead on their feet after the first round.
-our hero from Thailand, cruelly shanked by the whims of the judges.
-an impromptu ringside testicle examination following a second (!!!) kick to the nuts from an overenthusiastic Turk.
-an obese man chase his smaller opponent around the ring like a fat wife after her husband who forgot the sausage from the market.
Anytime you're at a sporting event, you can increase your interest and emotional investment tenfold simply by gambling. If you're watching two guys you've never heard of punch each other... well, good. One of them might fall down, and that might be humorous. But if you've got ONE THOUSAND WON riding on that surly Iranian, you'll be screaming at the referee and jumping around like a sprightly young monkey. I'm not entirely sure, but I think this constant might even hold true with yawn-athons like baseball and dog talent shows.
After a lot of third-round decisions and a couple skull-shattering knockouts, the arena crackled with anticipation for the Main Event. But first some somewhat necessary background info and unnecessary character assassination.
Korea's darling Big Boi is a seven-foot monster named Hong Man Choi, whose name is pronounced similarly to 'Chairman Hong'. Yep, say the name from right to left: it's how things are done here.
Now, I can assure you that the Chairman is not a good fighter. Sure, he's an imposing and interesting figure. He has a huge head which is able to withstand a staggering amount of punishment. He also has the gentle demeanour and rumbling soft-speak of beloved giants from the past, like Andre and... uh... that dude you always see in wax museums, Guinness Book's tallest man in the world. I've seen Choi Man in interviews and I like the man, even though he might be talking about eating six-packs of babies for all I know. At least he sounds nice.
But he is certainly not a fighter. He doesn't kick at all, despite the prefix kick- helpfully added to -boxing to inform combatants of their full range of options. Choi Man's ring strategy is relatively simple: he ambles towards his opponent, casually taking shots to the face until he is close enough to pound on their heads with stilted vertical blows, somewhat like playing a bongo drum. It works well against diminutive fighters, who are quite often discouraged by his invincibility and prefer to go down rather than continue their futile crusade against his chin. But this time Hong Man Choi was set to fight Semmy Schilt, a Hollander almost his equal in height and certainly his better in technique.
Following a few bursts of flame and two very large men striding purposefully to the ring, the fated bout began. It was pretty terrible. I don't know whether it was just that Mike had no money left to gamble with, or that watching two behemoths hug each other for twelve minutes just isn't that interesting, but it was probably the worst fight of the day. After watching through binoculars and counting the number of times Semmy Schilt hit Choi Man in the face - "One, two... thirty-seven, thirty-eight..." - I was entirely convinced that Korea was set to watch their hero go down by decision.
Somehow this was not the case. Against overwhelming evidence Choi Man was declared the winner, redefining 'home field advantage.' Suddenly he was left alone in the ring, smiling stupidly into the flashbulbs and showered in gold tinsel, undoubtedly wondering how the hell he managed to pull that one off. We all wondered too, but over the next few days the Korean media made no mention of the twisted logic of Choi Man's victory in their gushings. The legend lives on; nationalism pulls its strings. Poor Semmy Schilt, all that superior boxing for nothing.
Now this was just kickboxing, kickboxing from a circuit most people have never heard of, but it just goes to show you how seriously Korea takes its stars. In the absence of political trust, sports and entertainment figures seem to form the crux of this country's pride and unity. If Choi Man ever crashes down onto the canvas, defeated, he'll be dragging a lot of hearts down with him. That's a ton of weight to bear - I hope he learns how to kick soon or he's fucked.
[Hong Man Choi] [Semmy Schilt] [K1 World GP in Seoul] [Kickboxing]
Posted by Chris at 03:25 AM >> Commentations (1) | Permalink
June 03, 2006 >> Kickboxing Quandary
If a gigantic kickboxer punches a second, even larger, kickboxer in the face at a solid ratio of 3:1 exchange, is the recipient of these blows entitled to win the fight simply because his huge head has prevailed over kinetic force?
The physics and math and judging here all seem a little fishy.
Posted by Chris at 02:32 PM >> Commentations (1) | Permalink
June 01, 2006 >> A Tale of Two Suburbs
One of the great things about Korea is the suburban infrastructure: it's entirely different from the copy-and-paste picket fence hell back home. While Western suburbia conjures up images of endless cul-de-sacs lined with family sedans, hideous industrial strips and hugging proximity to highway veins, it seems like Korea has ringed their cities right.
U.S. and Canadian suburban models are heavily reliant on the car as a means of primary transportation to and from work and the mall. While most major cities have a subway or train or streetcars or whatever, these infrastructures rarely range beyond the confines of the city itself. In fact, most Western public transport has been absolutely gutted in favour of more car parks. Yay faltering auto economy!
Seoul, on the other hand, has a subway and bus system which reaches way out into the suburbs, effectively joining them to the nebula of the city. Besides lightening the load on the artery roads into the core, the far-reaching subway fosters a sense of access, of conjoinment, of togetherness. In a Korean suburb, you don't feel like you're in a shitty, isolated lint-worn pocket in the cargo shorts of the city. You feel like you're part of the real deal, connected to the heart.
The worst part of Western suburbia is the overwhelming sensation of restless boredom. There's something great going on in the Big City, just over that hill... and that one... and that one... and if only we had a car, or the traffic weren't so bad, we could be there! You're in a shamefully bare satellite, orbiting resentfully around an epicentre of inaccessible excitement. I remember Cambridge: we lived in a tiny bubble where we drank and fucked and talked about bigger things, maybe one day. I recall feeling like I lived in a hollow place, where people grew up and got old but never went anywhere. It was not altogether pleasant and after I escaped, somewhat condescendingly, I could never understand why anyone could bear to stay.
I still can't, if you couldn't tell.
The sameness of Western suburbia is also a problem: the cookie-cutter houses laid out symmetrically like building blocks, the same mall with the same franchises. It's comfortable - it's planned that way - and it's efficient, but in its predictability its citizens lose all sensation of inhabiting a unique and special place. Big cities always celebrate their cultural merits and recognizable spaces: New York has Broadway and the Village, Chicago has the Piers, Toronto has Maple Leaf Gardens (well, maybe not). All suburbs have is a geographical diaspora, a copycat apocalypse of concrete vomit and fictional Main Streets. In a desperate grasp at individuality, we get fucking huge nickels and deathbed downtown revivals (CAMBRIDGE!).
While Korea has the advantage of being peppered with historical sites and temples, providing strong bases for municipal identity, I still think the suburbia-scapes here are far more appealing. One might say that if you've seen one neon causeway, you've seen them all. And yes, neon can be hideous. But behind the signs in every city core lie a host of unique bars, eateries and shops, most owned by local families. Businesses are dying and being born every second here: the local economy is alive, symbiotic.
Western suburbia falls down in this regard: big box franchises have efficiently run small business out of town in most areas, with the exception of niche markets. Commerce is a static entity: the only variation is in what template configuration the fast food joints happen to be arranged. Now Seoul is overloaded with corporations and dirty thieving ones too, but somehow they exist alongside local business. And it's a good thing, a grand thing. All these local places are what add needed colour to Seoul suburbs. In Sanbon you find yourself living in a suburb worth exploring, finding new options within walking distance all the time (and losing old favourites too... goodbye Alien Singing Room, we loved ye)
Now I know that people can find beauty in their surroundings, wherever they happen to live. Tudor, in particular, seems to embody this ideal admirably. But Tudor is an exceptional fellow, always whipping out his cock and such. For everyone else, it shouldn't be this hard to find a fulfilling environment. Western suburbia shouldn't be a trial to endure, an American Nightmare to curse later in life and then return to, half unwillingly, family in tow. I'm a bit angry because the whole lifestyle just seems so unnecessarily silly. Our suburbs are a rash of artificial, culturally sterile communities spread across a continent, linked tenuously by a petrol lifeblood in decline. It feels wrong. And I find it hard to believe that others don't agree.
Now things can always be arranged in a different way, to catch light or cast shadow. The suburban life could be transformed. Tether the satellites to the host with strong public transport ties, let them share and contribute to the strong identity of the big city. Then perhaps true individuality will sprout on local levels, commerce and culture based on the diverse needs of an entire population rather than a semi-retarded microcosm. Will this honestly work? I don't know. But something needs to change. As long as the suburbs crowd along the freeway in pathetic pockets of isolation, enviously eying the city off in the distance, they'll be worse than nothing. They'll be the twenty-first century's cruel joke. We need to start crafting something more tolerable, and using Seoul as an example wouldn't be a bad place to begin.
[Suburbia] [Seoul suburbs] [Western suburbs] [Criticism]
Posted by Chris at 01:38 PM >> Commentations (6) | Permalink