Across the pond

Guess what, kids? I really did quit my job and move to Korea. Like, here I am, good and proper, with an apartment and a job and all. It actually happened.

And I'm not completely insane anymore, which is nice. My last post was at, what, four o'clock the morning of my flight? Brain shattered with nerves, internal organs fighting over which one got to be the first to leap out of my throat, desperately trying to sort out one more way to keep from packing and making all of this real, sleep profoundly not an option... By six, it was pretty much all over. Mostly because I was too tired to muster the energy to freak out anymore. I just finished packing and took a shower and waited for Dad to get up. I got a lovely early morning call from Dave and Ashley wishing me off. And everything was just, you know, fine. Or at least I couldn't do much about it anymore if it wasn't, so screw it.

I had my worldly belongings crammed into four huge bags (which I had to pay extra for -- yet another way for the supposedly cash-strapped airlines to wring yet more money out of us), and stopovers in Minneapolis and Tokyo; so plenty of opportunities to lose everything I own on the way to Korea. Which didn't happen, but that, pretty much, was what I was allowing myself to worry about. It was nice to realize that, too: that it wasn't the "Holy Christ, halfway across the globe" freaking I'd been doing, it was the just the usual worries traveling anywhere elicits.

And then, eventually, sixteen hours, "Horton Hears a Who," and the International Date Line later, I ended up in Busan. Andy, my boss, met me at the airport and drove me home to my new flat, showed me around, gave me 20,000 won "survival money" (1,000 W to the dollar or thereabouts, so, like, 20 bucks) and told me to be at work the next day at two. So okay.

Andy, I should say, is great. I mean, airport, survival money -- plus, he got me set up with a local bank account the next day and took me to the hospital for my immigration physical, and he's going to help me with getting Internet access (I'm using the Institute's computers for the time being) and cable ("Yeah so like uh, here's the TV and like uh...." -- here flipping through channel after channel of fuzz -- "...two fucking channels man, we gotta get you cable.") and a cell phone. I mean, sure, he's hired me and all, and has a vested interest in my having a positive experience, but he really seems sincerely interested in making sure the teachers are taken care of. I'm sure it's all in the service of maintaining a good reputation for the hagweon (the language school), but, hey, no problem. Let me say unreservedly that the World Foreign Language Institute is a good school that takes care of its teachers, and anyone interested in teaching English in Korea should apply here (preferably through Madeline Moon at Teacher Tech in Albuquerque -- she kicks ass).

I probably should mention that I start my actual job tomorrow, so the endorsement above is perhaps a bit premature. Whatever. They've been pretty awesome so far.

One more thing (I'm observing classes this week, and I have one in about five minutes.): On Tuesday, after a long sleep, I got up for work. And yeah, I'm a bit nervous, and I've just spent my first night in Korea, with a year and a career left to go, and I gotta make a good impression and all, so I shower and put on my Nice Clothes, and step outside. And the first thing I get from Busan -- from Korea -- are two grade school kids going past my building, who, as soon as I step outside, spin around and shout, in unison "Hello!"

Cutest. Ever.

I think things'll be okay here.

Blind panic and you're all invited

Uh-huh. So.

I know, it's been a while. Well, ya know, there's been stuff going on. And I should tell you about all of it -- the surreal Boston-Dallas drive punctuated with rest stop catnaps and gas prices that bleed you like Civil War surgery; David and Ashley's amazing wedding with vows that quoted Mr. Show; my Kafkaesque adventures in visa paperwork that have taken me on day trips to both Austin and Houston and finally landed me a visa yesterday; Anxiety Dream Marathon Week -- I should tell you about all of this, and perhaps I will, but I'm preoccupied at the moment. See, in case you haven't heard, I'm moving to Korea. Tomorrow. Kee-rist.

Funny, ya know, 'cause I've been "moving to Korea" for a while, and I've been plenty anxious about it for a while. And I keep hearing the "Gee, that's coming up soon" and the "Wow, you're really doing it" and "That's far" and "That's a long time" and I know, I know, I know, but now I really freakin' am, and I'm doing it to-freakin'-morrow and it's not in quotes any more.

And I still don't know a friggin' word of Korean, or how I'm gonna teach anyone friggin' English, or anything else at all, frankly... but what the hell, right? No one knows anything anyway, and I'll figure it out somehow or another, right? Ya know, a few days ago I was checking out the ESL forums trying to get some tips on how to survive and coming up totally empty. On one site, I kept finding all of the useful questions had been dominated by some guy who kept posting notes on Korean fauna; another was just horror story after horror story of not getting paid or getting fired and how Koreans are corrupt cheats and hate us anyway. And then I found some blog by some African-American woman who was heading off to Korea (has gone by now -- the entry was a couple years old) and checking forums and had seen the same dispiriting stuff and had finally concluded that most of the posters seemed to be disillusioned white kids who'd never (surprise surprise) had to deal with cultural prejudice before. And there was a comment from another African-American woman who was teaching in Seoul and having a great time and turns out Koreans are really nice, even if you're black and a woman. So, there you are: no one knows anything, and I need to quit worrying.

Oh, and speaking of comments, I finally got one, and fuck all y'all, 'cause it's from some random blog junkie who likes what I have to say about capers and not anyone I actually know. So to Lorenloo I say, stay tuned, it's just going to get weirder. And to everyone else, write me back, fuckers, or you're just going to get more of this nonsense.

One more thing. Ronnie, so you know, I didn't give her the tape after all. She got a book, and it makes much more sense.

Home is where the bruschetta and clover honey is

Gurrh. I'm in a lousy mood, and I don't really feel like posting, but I don't really have anything else to do at the moment, and I'm overdue, so I might as well.

The pain of moving is over, by and large, and I now officially no longer live in Boston. After three days of sorting and packing and deciding what constitutes the disposable part of my previous life and what remains as the material (or materialist) extension of me, and another three days of a hell-bent driving tour of the Midwest (Boston to Dallas via my sister's place in Chicago), and another three days (or four, perhaps -- a major effect of all this relocation is that time has gotten badly melty on me) of a) Panic and Dread, of both the existential and concretely manifest kinds, and b) the resulting infantile, almost pre-social, hermitism -- after all of this, I say, I am here, in Dallas, at Home.

Not really home, though. I feel guilty saying it, but it's not. This isn't the house I grew up in, it isn't my house. Dad moved out of that one after my sister left for college. A lot of the stuff in it is the same, or rather, it's stuff I recognize, but it's not the same. The chairs congregate differently; they've formed new alliances now. The sideboard, the couch, the piano, are all different somehow, like they all came out or were born again or something while I was gone. There's no dog. I never liked the dog, but her presence was an anchor, and her absence is not entirely welcome. It's unsettlingly like a dream, the kind that takes place at "home" -- not real home, but some strange, semi-familiar house playing the role of home. But what bothers me most is that I'm treating it like it's sudden and jarring, when I know full well that it's not and it's just me, jangled and stressy.

Dad's still here, of course, and that makes up for a lot. He's been pretty game about driving me around for my errands, and he's still the modest genius of the kitchen. I was happy to discover the refrigerator is as eccentric as always -- no cold cuts or apples or leftover barbecued chicken; instead there are chunks of parmesan cheese, bottles of pesto, and today, no less than three jars of capers. Fortunately, there is bread, so as long as you keep an open mind about the definition of a sandwich, there's usually something for lunch.

Gosh, speaking of which. No more depressive rambling today, I'm hungry. Sorry about not actually getting around to a point. These days aren't lending themselves well to conclusions, I'm afraid. Oh well. Nothing that can't be fixed with a Gruyere-and-olive-tapenade melt. And capers. We need to use up those capers.

Dissemination...procrastination...relocation...panic

Well.

So last week I quit my job and now I'm moving to Korea. Of course, if you're reading this, you probably already know this. It's not like it's a secret, by which I mean it's something that I've been telling nearly every single person I know, and I've been disseminating this blog to everyone as well, just to, you know, keep y'all informed.

Not that I've been terribly good at keeping everyone informed. I had this grand plan to post the evening I quit, but, well, there was this party, and then there was recovering from the party, and since then I've been "busy": mostly busy procrastinating and screwing off and going to other parties and dinners and seeing people before I leave. But now suddenly I have to pack up all my shit and move in a couple of days, so now I am actually really properly Busy -- which naturally means that I have to finally sit down and ignore the piling boxes and write something.

What a way to procrastinate, too. I hate writing. Well, not so much hate it as just that I don't do very much of it anymore, and it doesn't really come naturally to me anyway, so it's slow and painful and usually dissatisfying. I know it's bad form to do this, but I'm going to apologize now for the low quality of this and most of the posts of the near future. I need practice, and I guess I'm just gonna practice in public. Hey, if it's good enough for stand-up comedy, it's good enough for me.

Enough moaning. Now for the news. So, yeah, I'm moving in a couple days. Not to Korea -- not yet. First I'm trucking my shit back to the homestead in Dallas, by way of my sister's place in Chicago. I'm poor as hell, too, by the way, so I'm blazing through as quickly as I can, stopping only for gas and sandwiches and rest stop naps (No hotels for me! Just a pillow and a blanket and a box cutter to scare off the crazies.). Sleep in the cab of the van, shower in Chicago, jam on down to Dallas (though I had a brief, wild notion of looking up an ex-girlfriend in Wichita -- but no time, no time! That, and I don't think she lives there anymore), unpack... And then it's visa paperwork, cheap (please!) plane ticket, learning Korean -- not to mention all dinners and parties and good-byes and a freakin' wedding... And after all of this, of course, comes The Move. The real move. The other-side-of-the-world, life-in-two-suitcases-and-one-carry-on, sink-or-swim, do-or-die, nothing-will-ever-be-the-same M O V E.

Jesus.

I crap full-grown bobcats just thinking about it.