The Iceberg

Okay. This is not a new story. It’s been experienced over and over by many a person, including myself on more than a few occasions. I have for the most part withheld on writing about this sort of thing, but for some reason tonight I’m especially irritated/disappointed, so here goes:

I teach English at a university. Mainly I teach freshmen and sophomores, but I also have a class in the evening which is more or less like that of a private institute - it is composed primarily of businesspeople. Anyway, tonight was the final class of the session, so we decided to go to a fried pork (삼겹살) restaurant. My overall impression of this class is that they are a good group of people and we were having a good time. But then the alcohol started to flow.

To be fair, this story is only about one particular individual. Someone who struck me as a pretty nice guy. Until we finished our dinner and went to a bar, that is. The group started off with a few drinking games. Innocent enough. After about twenty minutes, someone suggested that we stop and have some conversation. Good idea. Or so I thought.

Out of the blue, the guy asked me, “Have you ever been to Thailand?” I told him that I’ve been there three times. “I really like that country,” he said. Then suddenly, “But I couldn’t understand why the men there just look.” I asked him what he meant. He continued, “So many white guys walk around with Thai girls. I can’t understand why the Thai men just look. I was really disappointed in them.”

“Christ. Here we go,” I thought. I’ve been confronted with this sort of thing before and have learned that there’s nothing to be gained from any sort of in-depth conversation on the topic. I don’t know - maybe I’m a bastard, but when this sort of topic comes up I tend to take the mocking “well your shit stinks too” tack. “What do you mean ‘white men’? There are plenty of Japanese and Korean men who meet Thai girls too,” I answered. “Oh, no,” he said, and I asked him if he was familiar with Pattaya. He just smiled the smile of someone who knew that I was on to his game. I decided to toss one more subtle jab in his direction, “You know, if my sister were to date someone from another country, I really wouldn’t care. As long as he was a nice guy. I really can’t understand why someone would care what race a person is or what country he’s from.” That was the end of the conversation.

If the point the guy was trying to make had been sex tourism, I wouldn’t have had a problem with what he said. But that’s not what he was getting at. His problem was that foreign (read: white) men were dating Thai women and to him the natural reaction was to be pissed off about it. And the fact that Thai men weren’t pissed off disgusted him.

As I said at the start of this rant, this sort of experience here is quite common. Enough so that people tend to lump everyone into the same racist group. Personally, I try very hard to abide by the philosophy of accepting individuals as good people until they give me reason not to. However, this guy has been added to a unfortunately growing list.

I wanna throw the heater to announce my presence with authority. - Kim “Nuke LaLoosh” Jung Il

Alright meat. Give him your heat.

Hopefully the world will take you over the fence.

I studied phonetics in university, so I am familiar with and can pronounce every sound in any language.  For example, in English you pronounce the capital of France “Paris”, but in French it is pronounced “Par-eeeeees”.

Have you ever been to one of those places that is sort of like a singing room, but instead of individual rooms you sing in front of all the customers? I’m not talking about 단란주점, where you are usually provided the company of hostesses. The place I’m talking about is a drinking and singing establishment and nothing more.

Two of my co-workers and I sought out one of these places about a week ago. We wanted something different from the usual singing room experience. I had been to one of these places in Seoul a few years back and found it to be a lot of fun. Not only that, I discovered that if you sing a Korean song you end up drinking for free the rest of the evening (because appreciative customers make sure your soju or beer glass is full).

The place we found was a little different, however. Whereas the one I went to in Seoul was basically a hof with a stage, this one had a dingy basement-like atmosphere to it. There were three circular bars situated in different corners with one ajumma serving at each bar. In the middle of the room there was an area for customers to dance while at the front there was a stage with a singing machine, an electric keyboard, and an electric guitar.

We chose the circular bar where no customers were seated (the others had two or three customers each) and tried to order three bottles of beer. Naturally, the ajumma wanted us to order a side dish with our beer. We explained to her that we had just had dinner and weren’t hungry, but as a compromise we’d order six beers up front. She hemmed and hawed before the ajushi running the joint came over and told her it was okay.

Waiting for our beers, we flipped through the songbook. The pickings were slim. I chose a song and waited for my turn. The ajumma brought out six bottles of beer and opened one of them. She started to fill each of our glasses with the first bottle of beer when I explained to her that we’d each rather have our own bottles. She nodded and opened two more bottles and poured the individual bottles of beer into our glasses, then poured a glass for herself. We smiled at each other and figured, “alright, fair enough”. (I guess, to clarify the dynamics of the situation here, I should mention that one of the co-workers is female.) We drank our beers while the ajumma smiled and tried to feed us dried anchovies. Um, no thanks.

About five minutes later my song came on and I got up to sing. In the middle of the song I waved my co-workers over to join me. A man and woman sitting at another bar came out to dance. Good times for all. Until the song finished and we returned to our seats, that is. When we sat down we noticed that the three previously unopened bottles of beer were now open and in fact were completely empty while our other bottles were still half-full.

“What happened to our other beers?” I asked the ajumma. She simply smiled and played coy, saying that we had already drunk them. “What are you talking about!? We had only drunk about a half a bottle each before my song came on,” I exclaimed. Since the song was only about four minutes long and my co-workers had joined me in the middle, I knew that they would - and could - not have downed three full bottles of beer in the interim. It was clear that the woman had poured the other bottles of beer out.

We were absolutely dumbfounded. Why in the hell would she do something like this? Did she sense that we were so drunk that we would not notice? If so, she obviously underestimated the value we place on our alcohol. And even if we had been that drunk, what was the point of deceiving us? To compel us to buy more beer? We had intended to do that anyway. But by trying to pull a fast one and getting caught, she completely destroyed any chance of us spending more money there that night or any night in the future.

The manager, seeing the conflict, came over and asked us what the problem was. I explained to him what the ajumma had done. She denied it but, judging from the look on the manager’s face, he was not too pleased with her. He apologized, gave me his business card, and told us that next time he would give us six free bottles of beer. But the damage had been done. We weren’t coming back.

We decided to finish our remaining beer before leaving. Get this: The ajumma picked up a bottle, handed it to me, and then held up her glass as if she expected me to fill it. Um, yeah right lady. You poured your beer down the drain.

One would think that on a team called the Crack Addicts you could expect high productivity from players located in the state of Florida. Alas, two of the biggest drags on my team this season have been my second and third round picks, Carnell Williams (Tampa Bay) and Chris Chambers (Miami). Not only that but Carnell’s nickname is “Cadillac”. I mean, come on!!! There has never been a greater match between player and team in the history of fantasy football. It doesn’t appear either player is going to pick up as the season progresses, though I haven’t entirely given up hope.

On the bright side, I managed to acquire Rex Grossman (Chicago) who through four weeks is looking less-and-less likely to be a fluke. Another reason for optimism, my team’s division is mired in mediocrity. Plenty of time left to make a run.

The standings a quarter of the way through the season:

Baekche W L PF PA
Hwayang Wangjabyungs 2 2 309 248
BuPyeong Silverbacks 2 2 275 242
Yeosu Crack Addicts 1 3 247 261
Bupyong-Sanggok Bulgogi 1 3 199 300

Shilla
Busan Power Outage 3 1 296 230
Wonju Wobblers 3 1 273 234
Hahoe Mask Drama 1 3 207 255
Mungyeong Flying Yangbans 1 3 191 305

Goguryeo
Itaewon Sweet Life 4 0 260 206
Oh Roh Gi Boong Oh Baang 3 1 270 224
Gangnam Georiae Namjas 2 2 262 286
Samcheong-dong Rabid Marmots 1 3 282 280

This week’s opponent: Hahoe Mask Drama - they’re going to want to hide behind that mask once the Addicts are through with them.

R.I.P. - Shinchon Street Pizzas (replaced by the Gangnam Georiae Namjas).

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to sing in a band at a university festival. Now, while I would never dream of trying out for American Idol, I can carry a tune. I’ll also admit - without shame - that I get a kick out of going to singing rooms. So without giving it much thought, I agreed to do it.

The festival was held for three days last week (Wednesday thru Friday). We were scheduled to perform on the first night. Our band’s first rehearsal was five days before the performance. Less than a week before the festival, I learned that the song I would sing was Robert Palmer’s “Bad Case of Loving You” - a song that is apparently quite well-known in Korea because it was in the movie “Friend” (친구), but also a song that I had never sung before.

I woke up hungover on the Saturday before the performance and rode my scooter (I upgraded to a 100cc model, by the way…more on that in a post to come later) to a small rehearsal room located beneath the university gymnasium. After a few brief introductions to the other band members (and a cigarette to calm the nerves), we got started.

Now, if you take a moment to click on the link above, you will notice that the “whoa” at the beginning of the song is quite high. In fact, on that Saturday morning, for my nicotine-infested vocal cords it was too high. It was at that exact moment that I first asked myself, “What have I gotten myself into?”

The rest of the rehearsal session didn’t do much to ease my apprehension. It’s one thing to sing when you can read the lyrics of a song streaming across a monitor. It’s quite another when you have to recognize on your own when to come into the song. Compounding the problem - except for the chorus, I didn’t know the lyrics. I was reading them off of a piece of paper. Finally, though not as bad as the initial “whoa”, I found that the rest of the song was at the upper limit of my vocal range; so by the end of the song, I was flailing. What had I gotten myself into?

We wrapped up rehearsal about an hour and a half later. By that point, I had gotten most of the tune down and reduced my mistakes to about four per bellowing, but I still had plenty of work to do. I asked when our next rehearsal would be and the drummer told me, “We’ll meet again next Tuesday.” Next Tuesday??? Good god!!! Just one more rehearsal? The day before the performance? What had I gotten myself into?

It was time to go to work. I downloaded the song from the Internet and sang along with it about a hundred times over the weekend. I went over lyrics again and again in the shower. I remembered that the only time I had ever sung without reading the lyrics was at a church performance back in junior high - yes, believe it or not, I have stepped foot in a church - and the only reason I remembered it was because I got stage fright and forgot about a third of the song. I was determined not to let that happen again.

At work on Monday, I asked a woman how many people were expected for the festival. “Oh, about a thousand,” she guessed. A thousand? “No, no. The festival is not only for students, so I think it’ll be more than a thousand,” chimed in another co-worker. More than a thousand??? Gulp. More work to be done.

That evening, after dinner and a few drinks with co-workers, I decided to go to a singing room. By myself. I plopped down a few thousand won and for thirty minutes I sang the song repeatedly without looking at the words. I felt encouraged that, for the most part, it seemed I had the lyrics down. I was also able to recognize the little intstrumental “hints” that helped me perfect the timing. And I made another discovery. The song was much easier to handle if I lowered it a key. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The next day I met the band members again - feeling more confident. I asked them if it would be okay if we did the song in the lower key. The guitarist told me that, since the bass player was somewhat of a beginner, he could only play the song in the original key. Dammit! So much for that idea. Furthermore, the bass player couldn’t make it to rehearsal that day, and not hearing his little three-note cadence(?) at the end of the guitar solo led to my messing up “I know you like it…”. Repeatedly. “It’s okay, you’ll get it tomorrow,” the other members assured me. Oh god! WHAT HAD I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

Wednesday. The day of the performance. My first stroke of luck. I got a text message from the drummer saying that the band wanted to get together at lunchtime for one more quick rehearsal. With everyone there, I managed to get the timing right. Okay. That calmed my nerves a little. The only mistake I made was I sang, “Doctor doctor. Give me the blues,” instead of “Give me the news,” during one chorus, but I could live with that. No one in the audience would recognize that.

Our stage rehearsal was scheduled for 4 pm. For the next few hours I went over the lyrics again and again. I was sick of the song by that point, but I didn’t care. I was determined to not come across foolish in front of over a thousand people.

When I arrived at the stage, there were already a couple hundred people scurrying about setting things up for the evening’s festivities. Another band was on stage running through sound checks. I sipped on a bottle of water and sucked a cough drop while waiting for our turn. I read on the Internet that one should drink plenty of water to help the voice. The cough drop was just something I tried on a whim.

The other band finished their preparations and now it was our turn. I walked up the stairs to the stage and a funny thing occured. I didn’t feel even the least bit nervous. I thought to myself, “You are fully prepared and now you are going to entertain the hell out of these people.” Sure enough, we ran through the song twice to check the sound and my singing was flawless. I was even able to nail the “whoa”. Thank you, Halls Cough Drops. During the second playing, our drummer lost the beat in the middle of the song and we had to stop, but even that didn’t rattle me. I was ready.

Our band’s performance was scheduled for 6:30, so I had some time to go home and have a beer, listen to the song a couple more times, and then take a shower and change. I got to the stage at around 6:20. The plan was for another man to sing a Korean song with the band while I waited backstage and then they would announce that I was coming out for a “special performance”. As it turned out, the band that preceded us ran a bit long and our band didn’t get on stage until around 6:45. While I really didn’t feel nervous, I may have been a little, because all I could think about while waiting backstage was how badly I wanted to take a piss.

The first singer in our band finished his song and made the announcement. It was SHOWTIME! I walked out and noticed that, as it had already fallen dark, I couldn’t really see most of the audience. But, because of the lights of the tents off in the distance, I could see people making their way to the stage. I would guess that there probably weren’t more than a couple hundred people gathered around the stage, but if you counted the people milling about the crowd probably did push a thousand or so.

It was magic. Everyone in the band, including me, saved our best performance for last. Standing on stage in front of the crowd, hearing their cheers, flame throwers on both sides of me shooting fire into the night sky, and the roar of applause after the final beat of the song…for five minutes I had a small glimpse of what it was like to be a rock star. It’s addictive.

If you’ve never been to a university festival - as I hadn’t - I highly recommend you check one out. The festival was held on a huge open lot on campus. Two rows of tents lined each side of the lot. I would estimate that there were about forty tents in all; one for each major at the university. Each tent had approximately ten tables or so for visitors to sit down and order food prepared by the students and, of course, drink soju and beer.

I felt a great sense of relief after the performance. Indeed, I felt a sort of high. While making the rounds to various drinking tents, complete strangers approached me, gave me the “thumbs up”, and said, “Good singer.” Others carried bottles of soju to offer me a glass. One girl even asked for my autograph. I think she was joking though.

Basking in the euphoria that comes from performing before a festive crowd and the temporary recognition that accompanied it - small scale though it was - I ended up getting plastered that night. It was just one final impression gained of a rock star’s life. I can easily understand how, despite being on top of the world, many of them manage to f**k up their lives. Of course, I can do that just as easily without the fame.