Epic Road Trip Extravaganza Winter 2010 Gala Celebration Party Oh-Ten Day 3

Day 3 was a rip-roaring success as far as I am concerned. The drive was short--4 hours--and Jackson was a giant shit pile like I had suspected. The only tall building in the town had a giant cross on it. As soon as we passed into Louisiana--


--we saw signs for Kentwood, the childhood home of Britney Spears. I tell you, Jackson looked like a wonderful oasis comparatively. This was one of those instances where someone's entire lifetime of choices was explained completely. We have had several of those instances thus far.

We crossed into the New Orleans area via the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, the longest water bridge in the world. I gotta say, it's pretty long. We had to search around for a hotel that was reasonably priced, but found one pretty quickly that has actually been the cheapest deal on the trip so far.

Immediately we hit the streets, gunning for the French Quarter. What a crazy place that place is. Drunk people everywhere, live music, people dressed as strange things (hand grenades). I really enjoyed the architecture as well. The bars were all holes in the wall with shitty, shitty (pun halfway intended) bathroom facilities. But, I managed using cunning, wits, brawn, sex appeal, and gusto. We had New Orleans-esque food all day and I tried four different types of Abita beers. Abita seems to be the beer of choice in the French Quarter.


It was damn cold, too. Walking around and seeing St. Louis Cathedral and the mighty Mississip was really awesome, but it left my extremities number than my heart. When the pre-pre Mardi Gras parade finally came, it was probably colder, but we didn't notice because we had been drinking and there were many people crowded on that damn Royal St.

The parade began with Dr. John, surprisingly enough, being named King of the parade. It continued with a political satire theme. Various politicians were displayed with other things like gravestones that read "R.I.P. Integrity" and the like. It really can be summed up as this: same shit, different city. Although I did not know most of the politicians displayed, I knew the complaints. We all do. From what I saw, New Orleans is a pretty as well as kick-ass town with a lot of character. I hope to go back there some day before I'm too old to enjoy it. If nothing else, than for the culture. It's thriving.

Epic Road Trip Extravaganza Winter 2010 Gala Celebration Party Oh-Ten Day 2

Did you ever have the desire to go to Athens and see some old, beat up temple that was once used to store gunpowder? Why spend thousands of hard earned American greenbacks going to some foreign place just so some dirty commies can get their mits on it? Go to Nashville instead! They have a full scale reproduction of the Parthenon right there! And it's in pristine condition. No nicks or scratches of any kind. I'm just saying. They didn't have to unsuccessfully ask the British government for their frieze back.

Anyway, DAY2 began like any other day that begins by being greeted with an impending snow storm. The only difference was that we had to get on the road. No dirty nature was going to stop us. So, our first stop after the wonderful Knight's Inn continental breakfast was seeing the Parthenon in the snow. Does it even snow in Athens? Psh.

The highway between Nashville and Memphis saw the most rigorous portion of General Mosby's final exam thus far, but the colors flew all over the snowy sky as she handled it like a champ. There were no less than nine accidents in that 200 mile stretch, along with may different types of snowy conditions. Tennessee cars seem to get cocky and fall off the road or tip over or whatnot, but not General Mosby. No no. She never lost her cool under pressure. It went from snow to rain to hail back to rain and not once did General Mosby ask if enough was enough.

So, the trip to Memphis took six hours instead of three and a half. I had no complaints about that, as we were still one of the cars on the road and not flipped over on the side of it. I did, however, have a complaint that fucking Graceland was closed due to the weather. How often does one get to Memphis to see the King? And the guy at the Walgreen's down the street said that kind of thing only happened maybe once a year. Lucky us. Oh well, that put us right back on schedule to get to...


Now, this next anecdote explains Mississippi very well. We crossed the border and we see no sign. You know when you cross a state border and the exits are suddenly totally different numbers? Well, that happened, and things were obviously Mississippian by the difference in the signage. So, we were both bummed that both Graceland was closed and that we thought Mississippi couldn't even afford a welcome sign. Well, turns out 10 miles later, the welcome sign shows up randomly and abruptly. Doesn't that just explain to everyone who enters that Mississippi is just a little behind the ball there? I thought it was very fitting. Anyway, we drove down Highway 61, the fabled birth of the Blues where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to play the guitar. And you know what we listened to on that highway? You guessed it: Lady Gaga. And Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited. I mean, come on. How could you not?

So, it's my first time in Mississippi, and hopefully my last. It's just so much work to spell out in blog posts. Impressions: um, well. There isn't anything in this damn state. Oh, except for the most awesome thing of all--a town named after me:

It was a town sooooo cool that it got its own stop sign. Trust me, that's rare down here. Sorry the picture is so crappy. It was dark and raining. They just discovered electricity down here so none of the signs (deemed non-essential since literacy is below 20%) are lit up. Anyway, imagine a single lane road going through a massive field that is partially flooded, no houses anywhere to be seen, trees in the distance, and crows. That's Mississippi. Incredibly desolate of life. Coming from Virginia, I kept waiting to see a new subdivision around every bend, but nothing. Just fields. We are right outside of Jackson, so I'll let you know how that is when we pass by it and give it the finger tomorrow. Seriously, the only life we passed here was a penitentiary and a mental hospital. No joke.

Actually, that's not entirely true. We stopped at a typical gas station on Route 49 S (off of Highway 61, where those silly blues men roamed aimlessly while most likely bitching about what they don't have). This mom-and-pop style cinder block gas station was peculiar in that a) it had the old style manual gas pumps b) it had a cashier with all gold teeth and c) the bathroom was in some back room where there used to be a segregated eating area (for those wily darkies, I'm guessing). And the cops were eyeing me. They got nothing.

So, we're three hours from New Orleans and well into the South. I have been more scared in my life, but this is definitely a code orange or so. It's a different world down here than even the rural parts of Virginia. Or, maybe it's all in my head. I'll let you know how day 3 goes at some point. Pray or hope or wrestle snakes or do whatever it is you all do for spiritual guidance for General Mosby with me. She is such a Godsend.

Epic Road Trip Extravaganza Winter 2010 Gala Celebration Party Oh-Ten Day 1

So Soheil owes me a punch in the face the next time he sees me. General Mosby (my Volvo) made it to Nashville like a champ, and she even had enough juice to drive us around whilst lost and afterward downtown.

The trip began with the hardest goodbyes of all, my mother and nana, sounding a bittersweet starting gun. The open road lifted my spirits though, and before too long Kristen and I were rolling at never more than 75 mph toward Tennessee.

I almost repeated history with my camera. At the Tennessee border crossing, I stupidly decided to put the timer on the camera so we could both be in the picture and placed it on the hood of my car. STUPID. Anyway, a maniacal truck whizzed by and it fell onto the open road. My heart fell with it. When I picked it up, however, it was fine except for a few new scratches (it adds character). It kept on ticking.

In Nashville, we stopped at the place I've frequented before. I don't remember the name, but it's got Southern people in it. That's not much help, is it? Well, screw you, buddy. Then we waited for someone to bait us into their bar, and one did. We struck up a conversation with the bouncer and walked in to a great country cover band. They took requests, and the female lead singer had some great chops. I don't like most country music, but this stuff at least kept our feet tapping.

We turned in early like old people to get a fresh start for...DAY 2!! Go, General Mosby, go!

Route Map, Beotch.

So, here it is. The Epic Road Trip Extravaganza Winter 2010 Gala Celebration Party Oh-Ten route map. Take a look and cry at its beauty.


View Larger Map

We leave, well, now that it's 12:01 AM, tomorrow. Thursday, January 28th, I say goodbye to the last and most important of the fam: my mom and grandmother. I am finishing up packing and I will make it work, forever hold my peace. I will update from the road...hopefully.

Update

Ok, so I'm a terrible person. I was going to roll out this big ol' blog with all sorts of super posts on how awesome my friends are, how awesome my family is, and what I've been doing and where I've been sleeping in the past two weeks. Well, I didn't get around to it yet. I'm planning on it in the future, but you know me and plans. We sometimes get into fist fights. Anyway, the reasons for me being such a blog loser are many, and most of them are my fault. Some of them are Pat Sajak's fault. So, instead of dwelling on my ineptitudinousness, I'm just going to move on.

To sum up: I'm living with me ma and grandma, I've been getting everything ready for the massive undertaking I'm about to embark upon in two days, I've been crying at the heavier goodbyes, I've been eating well, I've been drinking a lot (not one of the reasons I haven't gotten around to blogging, just a regular pastime of mine), and I've been spending time with the fam.

As for events that I have been taking part in: I have taken my grandmother to her various doctor appointments, I booked my flight on Korean Air, I got my E-2 visa, I got some lunch with a couple of my former coworkers, I had a couple more goodbye thingies (they are getting to be a dime a dozen here, but hey, I have a lot of people that I care about and want to say, "Hey, see you later on down the road, partner," to), I got my car checked out, I went wine tasting, I saw Avatar again, and I've generally been putting my possessions into two piles--the "this shit is going with me" pile, and the "I don't need this crap anymore" pile. Eventually, I will pack the former pile into a couple of bags and call it well-planned. I'll probably be grossly unprepared when I arrive in Incheon on the 17th.

The other thing that is happening is that the sense of urgency has hit. I sort of waddled around here for a week enjoying not working before yesterday when I realized I only had three days left to prepare everything. The everything I am speaking of is not too terribly daunting, but it does take some time and I need to get this shit rolling pretty fast. I leave for my "Epic Road Trip Extravaganza Winter 2010 Gala Celebration Party Oh-Ten" on Thursday morn. That means all my shit has to be in order by Wednesday night...two nights away. I got this, hoss, back off. Gimme a minute.

So, I am diligently printing things out, silently pushing the things I don't plan on finishing but should finish under the rug while pointing out something really bizarre going on behind you, and generally freaking out. But like I said, hoss, I got this. If you touch me again I'm going to send you home in several paper bags.

You may have noticed that there is an abundant lack of pictures. That is to exemplify my lack of preparedness when it comes to anything important to me. Actually, it's because my family's computer is not memory card friendly and I just can't be bothered right now. Don't worry, faithful servants...er, readers, I can be bothered when I get to Korea. Proooooooomiiiiiise! Road trip update coming!

Goodbyes

Last night was my going away party in the NoVa area. We held it at the house on Pooh corner where Kristen, my (now former) co-worker, lives. She even made cookies and brownies! It was a delightfully good turnout, with probably 40+ people making an appearance. I wore a smile the entire night...until the goodbyes.

I was never very good at goodbyes. Usually they come out awkwardly and somehow incomplete. Sometimes I even squeak and say nonsensical gibberish. You can't say, "Hey, see you tomorrow," or "Let's do something next week." Instead it's more like, "Hey, sorry I'm missing your wedding/graduation/birthday coming up because of my selfish dreams of going to some foreign land for an extended period of time." But, you know what? It's not goodbye goodbye. It's only, "See you later. Much, much later. In enough time for you to have a kid if you wanted to (or even if you only wanted the initial feely-good part of that process). In enough time to change your entire life or move away or get married. What have you. A year is a very long time, and I was bitterly reminded of that last night. Still, it was a bitter sweet. I was very grateful to have so many people come to see me off right. I saw some people I hadn't seen in a long time, some people I had never seen before, some people who I had met once or twice, some people who eventually broke my camera, and some great friends who are a huge part of my life almost daily.

My sister, Sara, made a grand entrance, as usual. It was surprising to see her after she feigned not being able to make it all the way from Richmond. She came decked in sequins, some bitchin' sunglasses, and papal garb passing out signs and jello shots (vegan, of course). The signs were hysterical and heartwarming. The jello shots were throat burning and intoxicating.

My good friend Laurence came with some lambic kriek beer. It tasted like candy, or black cherry soda. Totally awesome of him.

Agh, you ever get a booger that you just can't weasel out with your grubby little digits and instead it just leaves a snot trail on your finger and your nostril until you finally muster the motivation to go get a tissue? Well, I haven't mustered the motivation to get a tissue yet because you, the faithful subscriber, are more important. Or my laziness is just that strong.

Alright, here's the skinny. It was a great party, and all the babies cried and the children giggled and the adults got good-timing drunk and the geriatrics went to sleep early after watching Jeopardy. I'm going to miss the whole lot of them. We are an eclectic group, but the dynamic works and everyone who attended is a wonderful person whom I am blessed to know. I know, sounds like a bunch of sentimental, right-wing, smoke blowing bull shit, but I mean it.

Friday, January 15th, 2010!

My last day of work was what can be described as sad. There were many tearful goodbyes, and reminders of some lost opportunities, or alternate futures that could have been. Remember, I'm not going into weather conditions so you'll just have to take that previous statement as it is.

Ok, I'm just jerking your chain (is that a slavery reference? I never fully understood. Probably because my I.Q. is less than 70). My last day was actually very relaxing and I was glad to have gone through it. My replacement, Willie Handjiverson, took the reins--not the leather straps, but the kidneys--admirably. I think he's got a solid handle on things...until things get into some other state of matter. Can one have a plasma handle on things? We'll soon find out!

Anyway, this day was a long time coming. Over the last year and 8 months, I've had a lot of time to think about all the crazy things I could do on my last day without any foreseeable consequences (harrassmentbadgeringtaekwondocompetitionsrapemurdermoneylaunderingkittenslavery), and all the things I would say to my boss upon never seeing her again. So, when the time came, I strolled casually into her office and engaged in a final conversation with her. You know what I told her? I said, "Thank you, I've grown so much since I've been here." Now, I know what you're thinking. Where are the curse words and the violence? Why didn't you bring a machine gun and call her a dirty animal? Well, I have to admit that I told the truth. She's not a perfect boss, not by any stretch of the word even. But, she was my boss, and I've learned since she's been part of my life. Now, I definitely omitted some key pieces of information, but I think it made her feel a little better. And isn't that what life is about, folks? Making people feel just a little better than if they'd never met you? Yeah, that and porn.

The fun's not over yet. The rest of my night consisted of pigs chest bumping each other, Vikings, and a giant metal Ghandi. That's right, me and the boys went to the Brickskeller. Ironically, it's just down the street from the South Korean Embassy, but they would have been proud if there wasn't a giant church blocking their view of my debauchery. We had some good beers, some piss watery beers, and some unexplainable beers that smelled like bacon. I'm glad I got to see all the boys, as that was our night. You can't take it away from us. Not even for all the taxpayer money that Goldman Sachs got. Not even for however much money in therapy it would take to fix Courtney Love.

Warning: boring blog post coming up. Even I, the glorious Khan, can produce drivel.

So, I finished my second to last week of work. In an unparalleled act of intelligence, my replacement started yesterday. I have been training him all god damn day on both of the past two work days. He seems like a nice guy. His name is Al Tripperton* and he lives at 4235 Willow Onyx Terrace in Flattsville, TP 78901.** He loves hiking in moon boots. His favorite food is grilled praline sausage with brussel sprouts. Sometimes he'll go out of his way to tear the edges off of paper signs. He has a hot and cold relationship with his mother. It's going to be a sharp learning curve once the boss gets back on Monday and we actually have to do work, but I think he can get it.

He had this "all work and no play" mentality when he came in for his first day at Super Secret Work Location 2.0, but I quickly beat it out of him with my spreadsheets and CAFM program. Now he thinks his boss is a lunatic and everything is broken. All is right in the world.

I also emailed Joyce today and she said that my contract will be in the mail next week. That's a far cry from what she originally told me, but I learned not to trust the Koreans a while ago. Originally, it was 3 weeks from when I mailed my shit in October, then it was "December" then it was "between Christmas and New Years" and now it's "next week." I guess she wasn't that far off if you're comatose. Oh well, C'est la vie, I say.

I suppose that is all for now. Glorious day to you all, all zero of you.

*Not his real name
**His real address, I swear to Bob. Write him a letter or go visit him there.

Oh, it's Kolean Food!

It's time for me to fess up. I'm afraid I've been keeping both my blog and the reason for starting it a secret. I'm sorry, Mama. Don't use the wooden spoon on me. It's time to right the wrongs, and then contort them into wrongs again. So, the real reason I have begun this blog (you know me and brutal honesty. Remember the Mountain Dew and the retard?) is to document my time teaching the children in Korea...and anything that may happen thereafter, including my future male pattern baldness.

As a cultural warm-up, last night, me and ma boy Soheil checked out the wonders of Korean food for the first time. I'm not talking the quaint "oh, look at the cute Asian woman cooking my cheeseburger" type of Korean restaurant. I'm talking the type of place that you would love because you prefer dirty foreign holes hidden around back (Jesus, I am disgusting...but so are you for preferring the backdoor). Actually it was a really authentic Korean place called Myung-Ga in Fairfax. It fit in line with everything I have read about Korea. The employees were friendly and very accommodating. The other patrons were blowing their nose loudly and coughing without covering their mouths. The TV in the corner played a Korean channel. Forget the food, this was the highlight of my night.

It began with some "Music Hour" or something wherein different acts perform on a stage in front of a live studio audience. I caught the last two acts. One was an androgynous boy band singing in mostly in Korean and each member wore most of a tuxedo. One member had half his jacket missing. The second performer was a singer-songwriter type chick with piano accompaniment that wasn't very exciting to make fun of.

Koreans have a food company called Wang. I am no knuckle reader, but I can tell you one thing about my future: I will never eat a Wang product. Ah, Western homophobia at its best. The Korean news is a hoot. There were four anchors and all of their names were Kim. I knew this because I have taken it upon myself to learn the Korean alphabet, and I can recognize Kim when I see it. 3 males, 1 female, all Kim.

Although I may look perfect, I have many shortcomings. One of them is that I cannot yet (or probably ever) speak or understand Korean, so I had to deduce what the special news segment was on. My deduction: Korean news is basically only about old Koreans praising each other on how well they can get naked and make kimchi in the snow.

So, the food. Soheil got something that translated to spicy cuddle fish with mystery pork and rice, and I got something that translated to raw-esque seafood in a sizzling hot rice/vegetable bowl. It was actually pretty good, but the Korean TV was what really kept me eating. It was just so mesmerizing! I'm sure poor Soheil felt pretty lonely eating there with my glossed over look. I wasn't even high!

This is your American Government

Andrew Bird told me a couple of times that "life is too long to be a whale in a cubicle." Well I have a response for you, you violin plucking mother. "Yes. Thank you for telling me that. That surely would be a tragedy if it occurred." Seriously, although I had never wanted to spend my life as a blubbery sea mammal in a cubicle, life was threatening to turn me into just that if I did not motivate myself to change it. I wanted to take a few minutes to paint a Jackson Pollock of what my job is/was like so that you realize how easy it was for me to want to change it.

I was going to show you a picture of the amazing view I get from my 8 ft. x8 ft. cube, but the Man tells me I can't take pictures in here. The scuffed up mail room door is top secret. I can't even really tell you where I work. Sounds cool, right? Wrong. Working in the government is the equivalent of watching a gigantic snail crawl across a massive log...while it's raining cat piss. It's cool for the first few seconds, but after a year and 8 months, a bullet starts to look pretty tasty.

It doesn't help that I read an article about the level of job satisfaction being at an all time low. Nonetheless, I wanted to run through a few key points about my (soon to be former) job that excite/depress me.

First, the metro ride. I ride the metro. I'll admit it. The DC metro is like smoking. It's expensive, it's bad for your health, and it is rarely on schedule. That last point is not really like smoking at all, but I bet your little emo brain can come up with some way in which they correlate. The best part about the metro ride is this: getting out of the station.

A typical sunny summer day in Rosslyn:

After arriving and receiving a message from my boss asking me to do something I already did a few months ago, I get my coffee. I like my coffee black, so I can taste the flavor. Well, there ain't much flavor in the coffee around my area. Actually, I take that back. There is plenty of flavor in the coffee. I'd say it tastes remarkably like slow moving river water about 10 yards from a dog feces processing plant.

I usually ask my self several times a day, "What if God smoked cannabis?" and, between my boss and her favorite designer, I am answered within seconds. I won't go into detail, but my branch has a higher turnover rate than the baggers at my local grocery store. I have been there the longest (by several months, including my boss) and I've only been there for a year and 8 months. That is an infant blinking in government terms. I have colleagues in other branches who have been there for easily 700 years. Easily.

I'm not even going to go into the trillions of subtleties that made me initially reconsider my career. I can say that when I am done with this place, I will miss a few things. I will miss the tender touch of my contractors' hands. I will miss the people who are loud and belch in the cubicles around me. I will miss the naivety (or cunning, I haven't figured it out) of some of my co-workers. I will miss the booze that is to be had at every party (and every ludicrous reason to have a party). I will miss Satan's kitchen being right across the street. But most of all, I will miss the friends I have made and the copious amounts of free time I had earned through the deceptive cover of "updating spreadsheets."

The new found freedoms I will earn in 9 working days, 1 hour and 59 minutes will most likely make me forget all about my job, the degree I earned leading up to it, or even the mundane high school years that were so important to my development as the adult I have blossomed into (half-blossomed, half-stolen by Golden Eye and Legend of Zelda). I plan on ending up like the jabbering man who sits outside the Starbucks and jumps out at people after he lathers up in Vaseline. No joke I saw that guy listening to a Fisher Price baby monitor like it was a boom box and dancing like he belonged in 1987.

Welcome! Come right in and have a cocoa!

This, of course, is the obligatory "about me" exposé wherein I tell you everything you need to know about me before continuing onward through my/your new and improved life on the blogosphere. The time has come to drop some knowledge on you. I'll spare you the detail of weather conditions and facial expressions. Here's the brutally honest truth:

The Good - Planet Earth makes me cry for beauty. Music is why I breathe and wake up in the morning (almost) every morning. I donate to charity and petition the government for change, but not so much that I am annoying to others or preachy. I am laid back and open to try new things (within reason). I have been to Europe.

The Bad - I am sometimes lazy. This is what I look like. I, love, commas (and parenthetical interjections). I have been to Europe.

The Ugly - I once threw a full Mountain Dew can at a retard on a bike. I can still see his little lopsided face in my nightmares.

Now we get to the section wherein I answer the questions I think you may ask if you actually read this blog. Again, brutally honest truth:

Are you retarded yourself? Sometimes I like to answer questions with questions, both for ambiguity's sake and to strike up those neurons in my readers. With that said, riddle me this: who in their right mind would give up a cushy government job during a crippling recession (depression?), a carpeted dwelling, a girlfriend, a dog, and most of his/her worldly possessions for the remote possibility of living in a racist, backward country for a year to teach inbred children English? You decide.

Why are you writing a blog? Do you think your life is important enough for other people to read about it or something? The decision to write a blog is a tough one for sure. I incorrectly used a Venn diagram to weigh the pros and cons of starting one. The cons were few: time consumption, malnourishment, eye deterioration. The pros were many: personal journal keeping, peer interaction, (and my personal favorite) the Benjamins. We all know that blogging is one of the most lucrative professions around, and I'm ready to cash in. And finally, in the little overlapping part of the diagram I just drew a picture of Groucho Marx.

What the hell is a flâneur? Ok, I know that dividing zero by any number either can't be done or still makes zero, but I hope that this doesn't put anybody off. This is the most serious that you'll see me get while still being in a good mood/not getting shot at. A flâneur (pronounced: prick) is really best described by Zigmunt Bauman in one of his über-important documenty papery books:

Like the world which is his home, the flâneur wanders without aim, his stroll punctuated every once in a while by looking around. Without aim? That aimless stroll is the aim; there could not be, there should not be other aims. Neither the world nor the solitary wanderer knows to where they move or what is to be found around the corner; the aim of the present move is yet to come, and the aim of the aimless move is to prompt it or lure it or force it to come. The flâneur wanders in search of the aim of his wandering. The strolling is the Impuls der Erwartung the Incipit Vita Nova incarnate; an obscure existence with a yet-undiscovered-essence, looking around in hope to find the predication that has-not-yet-arrived, the hope on a hunting expedition in which aim is the game.

To save you a further question, if you've ever met me, you know the "world-class" part is hilariously sarcastic. I'll put your hideous mother to shame with my uncouthness.

Everything else will be revealed in time, when the planets are aligned and the sirens call you over to their rocky beach for what you think will be a super awesome orgy, but eventually turns out to be a unanimously voted cataclysmic disaster. My metaphors may need to be mentioned under the "The Ugly" section.