Big likes Big

An artical in the Korea Herald was recently brought to my attention. Brilliantly written by one Jane Cooper, of whom I know little except that (she? I can only assume...) is possessed of a clever wit. She writes of one Bernard Carleton, who placed an add in a free biweekly rag, for a discussion group called "World Class". Apparently the group conducts meetings in Seoul, for the purpose of promoting cultural understanding and "breaking down prejudices". The clever bit is that the add concludes with the request, "No Canadians, please".

Lady Cooper allegedly contacted Mr. Carleton for clarification, and was told, "Canadians are scum. They are self-loving, welfare supporting, over-taxing, work-ethic hating scum. They are not welcome in our group."

I can only assume that a)Mr. Carleton does not actually exist, and is a clever hoax devised by Cooper for the purposes of rebuking Canadians for their propensity toward anti-Americanism, or b)Mr. Carleton is an Australian.

I am leaning toward the first assumption, since this thing is too patently ridiculous to be true. As for the second alternative, I voice it only because Australians are the only people to take us (Canadians) seriously enough to actively despise us. But I lean away from the second possibility on the grounds that Auzzies never actually SHOW their hate towards Canadians unless they're losing a drunken argument, the girl of the evening, or both.

But let's assume just for fun that Bernie really exists... hmm. Bernard. Definitely Australian. I would like to take this oppurtunity not to deny per se, but at least answer to the charges at hand.

1.I do love myself. You are right, Bernie. Canadians are smarter than Americans AND Auzzies put together. And we're more fun at parties than the Brits. But not all Canadians like themselves as much as Big likes Big. We have more than our fair share of self-loathing wet blankets.

2.I hate welfare. Every time I'm on it, I think, "This sucks!"

3.Over-taxing? Are you talking about Canad-IANS, or Canad-A? Did you mean over-tax-ING, or over-tax-ED? I can assure you, no one hates Canadian taxes more than Canadians. Get in line.

4.I do not hate work ethics. I hate work. I just thought that should be clear. I have deep respect for hard workers. Better them than me.

That said, regardless of whether Mr. Carleton does or does not exist, the Lady Cooper 's article is vastly amusing. Please check it out for yourself. She also provides an email address for the alleged Mr. Cooper, cbicsmd@yahoo.com, for those inclined to respond either to the invitation to join the "World Class" group, or voice their opinions on his attitude toward breaking down prejudice and cultural misunderstanding.

Finally, I would like to thank Jane Cooper for an amusing read. I haven't had this much fun since I beat a drunk Auzzie in an argument.

P.S.:No Australians were actually harmed in the writing of this document... I couldn't find any. Where the bloody hell are you?

Burning Ring of Fire Chicken

Spring is upon us... it's in our lungs, drying out our throats, giving us colds. And it's all over our cars. In Korea spring brings the Yellow Dust. It brings it all the way from the Gobi, apparently, and shares it with us. It paints us with it. Paints us inside out. I've decided to put off washing my car a little bit longer...

Yesterday was St. Patricks Day, and this year it fell conveniently on a Friday. After a day of arming the children with scissors and cutting shamrocks out of paper (funny how there's always one kid who manages to cut it wrong and gets a bunch of half-hearts instead...) Big and Extra Fantastic hopped into our dirty little Juliet and drove out to Anyang for open mic at Bar Rockssin.

Since Big likes driving and not being in jail, I had to go light on the cowboy sippy sauce; Extra Fantastic was having a Bailey's, so I had a Kalua. Then I played the following short set:

She Moved Through the Fair - Traditional
Ring of Fire - Johnny Cash
When the Doves Cry - Prince
One More Cup of Coffee - Bob Dylan
Lola - The Kinks

We more or less had to get moving right after I finished, since Extra Fantastic had to work this morning. We decided to get something to eat, and since we were in Anyang, we decided to have Buldak, because Anyang has a restaurant that serves the hottest Buldak in all of Korea.

What is Buldak? Buldak means "fire chicken", and as a lover of spicey foods from all over the world, Big can assure you that Buldak is aptly named. First off, it tastes like fire. Not just spicey. I mean the flavor is actually what you imagine fire would taste like, if you could actually eat it. As you savor the firey flavor, the spice starts to kick in, and triggers a complex bodily reaction whereby all the sweat, tears and mucus your body is capable of producing just then leaves more or less simultaneously, through your face.

The secret to eating Buldak is macaroni salad. Followed by Nurungji Tang, a kind of burnt rice soup made from burnt rice from the burnt rice factory, and water. Big isn't joking.


Why do Big and Extra Fantastic eat food that makes them cry? Because Buldak is the perfect food. It makes you experience so much emotion. Joy. Sorrow. Pleasure. Fear. Laughter. Pain. We tried to get ice cream later, but the DQ was closed. Treacherous bastards. Ideally Big would have preferred Pat Bing Su anyway, but it's still too early on the year for it.

What's Pat Bing Su? Sweet bean paste on shaved ice, usually augmented by fresh or sweetened fruits, gummy candies, corn flakes, and/or milk or ice cream... then there's the fancy Red Mango chain which does the same thing, but with frozen yogurt instead of ice cream. Essentially the same thing as Halo-Halo, for those of you who've ever eaten Filipino food. Yummy. Out of season yummy. Big had to forbear the absence of Pat.

Big's dad and brother outdid Big... instead of driving to the next town for St. Paddy's, they apparently traversed half of Canada on a spontaneous roadtrip from Winnipeg to Nova Scotia, representing approximately one twelfth the circumference of the Earth. Smartasses... last I heard they were up to no good, terrorizing the East Coast drinking community.

Cut... Pulleeeeze...

Recently my friend Chris quite justifiably lambasted Peter Jackson in his web log, for forgetting to edit King Kong. The movie had its cinematic moments ("I'm just an actor with a gun, and I've lost my motivation") and looked great (the sunset which so vexed Mr. Perlow, and the scenes atop the Empire State Building). But I wholeheartedly agree, Mr. Jackson forgot to wipe and flush.

It would seem, however, that this is not an isolated occurrence. I have only one word to mention as a case in point:

A..................L..................E..................X..................A..................N..................D..................E..................R

That movie came out nearly two years ago, and was nearly three hours long. I figure that's at least twice as long as it needed to be. Oliver Stone was at the peak of his powers when he did "Natural Born Killers"... back then he still new how to edit... or at least hire editors... Natural Born Killers had 10 editors; Alexander only had four. Those six could have argued Alexander down to a viewable hour and a half.

Of course, to concede a point to Mr. Perlow, King Kong had only ONE editor. Which might explain why it exeded three hours in running time... time the audience could have spent... running... screaming...

What ever happened to the good old days when one editor was enough? Oh yeah, Star Wars. Platoon. Lord of the Rings. Success. Ego. Full metal marketability. Who cares if it's good? Everyone's going to see it ANYWAY...

Mr. Belly and Swim Get Married

Write something, says Woo Big's noggin to the fingers that lie like stupid meat, inert on the keyboard.

The stupid fingers don't respond. They are like the roasted squid legs you can buy at the rest stop. Sort of salty and pink... but totally stupid.

Korean rest stops are huge. They are gigantic. They are like malls. You can take a piss, eat noodles, buy stupid art or a hat, play a video game, make a phone call (if you happen to be one of the fifteen Koreans that DOESN'T own a cellphone), and fill your tank with gas.

I was at a rest stop the weekend before last. We were on our way to see Mr. Belly and Swim get married.

Korean weddings take place in the matrimonial version of the Korean rest stop; the wedding hall. Only the way it's spelled in Korean, it gets pronounced "Wedding Hole"... hahaha. Imagine a gigantic building with six weddings going on all at once in separate rooms, and a dining hall big enough for all six receptions to occur simultaneously. Just beware when you go to the can, as some of the guests will overdo the soju, and this may result in a premature ejaculation of the vomitus... all over the entrances to both the men and women's facilities, making it impossible to relieve one's self unless one is indifferent to skiing through slippery swamps of upchuck.

Swim looked so nervous I thought she would pop like a grape. The Korean ceremony tends to vary from one wedding to the next, but is generally moderated by a trusted older gentleman who knows both the young'uns. Then the two mothers come up and light candles with them fancy long-stemmed barbecue lighters. Then the dads come up and sit by the moms. Then the couple comes up and bows low to each set of parents, with the groom actually down on the floor. I heard of one Western dude lucky enough to marry a Korean girl, who actually refused to bow to the girl's father. Oops. I mean, if you're in, you're in, no?

Anyway, Mr. Belly and Swim are both Korean, so no worries there. And they seem ridiculously in love; always a plus if you're getting hitched. After the bowing the parents and the couple all stand up together, along with a couple more relatives, and the moderator keeps talking. The whole time there's some chick in jeans with a video camera and a dude with a huge still camera, and they tag team blocking the guests from getting any good shots.

The wedding is also attended by a crew of young ladies in matching Sgt. Pepper-style vinyl red and white outfits with miniskirts, holding trumpets, swords, and the backend of the bride's dress as various occasions arise.

I'm happy to say that by the end of the ceremony, Swim's characteristic grin was back, and she was glowing. The two of them are now somewhere in Bali on their honeymoon. Best of luck, you crazy kids.