Take the hand-off and follow the little old lady off tackle.
The clock was running and the crowd was getting restless, which can be easy, because there are 3,917 people anticipating the arrival of the train to Nowhere.
Dashing, darting, and deciding the route overtakes the thoughts.
Who to follow?
The little old lady with the cane?
What about the one with the shopping bags?
How's the one with the seaweed concoction in her hand? (I would get out of her way)
The one who's bowl-legged looks menacing, or is it her scowl?
The Adjumas (Romanized for those who don't speak Hangul) are the most entertaining of them all.
I have told you how they stop a speeding car with their hand, how they prepare Kim-chi on the streets, how they plow their way through a crowd, and how they cut in line in front of you.
But have I told you how they walk?
NO.
You see, it is my theory (and another guy's theory) that they are bowl-legged because they spend most of their lives seated cross-legged (we used to call this 'Indian-Style', but this term is outlawed).
Perhaps it's because they don't get enough calcium in their diet-I could make a killing selling calcium supplements. Black Market, anyone?
Either way, these cane toting Grammas are the cheapest form of entertainment I have found--including the scooters running into the back of taxis.
The Korean society is patriarchal and these ladies have been used and abused their whole lives and they intend on getting 'theirs' before they go wherever their beliefs take them.
And this, Folks, is why I love them.
They are tougher than a schoolyard bully, meaner than a pulling Guard going after your knees, stronger than Magnús Ver Magnússon (World Strongest Man), and mightier than some of the people waiting for tables at Jalapenos (you people could take some lessons).
Hours of funny antics.
Minutes of excruciating pain.
Mere seconds before you get blasted off the subway platform.
Example:
I am walking towards a train the other day, behind little Schoolgirl, a future Adjuma, and we are both heading towards the same platform.
Now.
I have no reason to run this girl into a wall nor do I want to, but we are moving at a pretty good clip.
Why?
Dunno, the train won't be coming for five minutes, so there is plenty of time.
Then.
Out of NOWHERE, she appears.
The Grand Duke of Adjumas and she has fire in her eyes and her shoulder dropped.
I spied her early enough to back off my speed, Schoolgirl wasn't as lucky.
My iPod's volume may have been on high, but my senses made up for the fact.
I sensed danger. It was in the air.
My eyes darting, the hair on my neck stands up, and BOOM, there she was........
SAVE YOURSELF, my mind says.
And I do.
I'm looking out for NUMBA One and that's ME.
Schoolgirl didn't know what hit her.
I did.
Adjuma.
The shoulder squares, the teeth bared, the attitude stronger than little Katlyn's or Devlin's in front of the candy selection at Hy-Vee.
Adjuma rams into little Schoolgirl and she goes-a-flyin'.
Adjuma doesn't even flinch.
This is good for me.
Now.
I don't profess to be a NASCAR fan, I don't see the purpose of turning left all day, but I have learned one thing in my quest for a great crash at Daytona, go between the cars that have just collided.
So I did, substitute the Rainbow Warrior and Jimmy Jack Paul (or whatever Bubba's name is today) and fly on by. ("Watch Goose, I'll slam on the brakes and he'll fly on by....." "C'mon Mav, quit screwin' around")
So.
While Schoolgirl is spinning out of control and flying past me, backwards, I take the inside shoulder of Adjuma and find my opening.
I see daylight and lots of it.
Adjuma is scowling.
Not at me.
Thanks to the powers that be.
She's attacking Schoolgirl with such venom a Navy SEAL would run.
Again, I may not know what she's saying, but I know WHAT she saying.
Schoolgirl is fighting the tears, huddled against a pole, cowering (it's part of the Adjuma training course).
Adjuma is WAILING.
All this is in my rear-view-mirror. Just where I like it.
Yet, I turn.
My laughs fill the platform, my pointing is obvious, and my 'HA-HA!!!' is as loud as loud can be.
Then the glare.
I should not have turned around, I've read Greek Mythology (plus, I saw 'Clash of the Titans') and I know the power of Medusa and she ain't got nuthin' on Adjuma.
Leave well enough alone.
Nope.
Not me.
As I am pointing and laughing, Adjuma's head spins on her shoulders--just like in the movies.
I let out a little scream.
I fear Adjuma will come after me.
Turning to run, I spot another Adjuma, little pink wearing coat Adjuma.
Dare I look her in the eye and be turned to stone or a pillar of salt?
Nay.
I am too smart for this or at least my Mommy tells me so.
So.
With Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes blasting in my ears (Teddy P's got it goin' on) I high-tail it to the end of the platform and hide behind a column to wait it out.
It works, but other Adjumas are about.
They smell blood, like Hyenas on the Savannah.
I'm like the Antelope (or Oryx), I dart and dash away, saving my arse for another day.
Schoolgirl isn't as lucky.
She is being ripped to shreds by a pride of Adjumas.
Poor thing.
She didn't know what hit her, which is good, no one wants to die a painful death.
So?
What have we learned?
We have learned to stay a distance away from Adjuma, don't look them in the eyes, DO NOT feed them, and when you see the shoulder drop, go left or right or backwards or drop to the floor and feign death.
The entertainment will take care of itself.
OK
Adjuma is out of the way.
No we go to ''Likes to try to fight Drunk on Soju Korean Guy".
Funny.
Worse than two lunkheads at the Brooksider posing for their friends, butnotactuallydoinganythingbecausetheydon'twantoriptheirBananaRepublicshirt.
Words.
More words.
Sigma Chi Guy (or the Korean Guy version) holding lunkhead back.
As if the guy is really going to do anything.
Screaming like little girls, posturing, feathers in an uproar.
This is what I witnessed on the way home from the bar the other night.
And it was funny.
Four lunkheads in the Dance of 'Not-Wanting-to-Fight-but-I-sound-Pretty-Tough'.
Falling down, stretching shirts, swinging like a blindfolded dork at a Pinata.
What a joke.
I've seen more action outside of The Brooksider at Three AM, er, Midnight, I never stay out that late, Mom.
One hits the ground after being spun out by the guy holding his shirt, another backs into a wall, hitting his head.
One of the 'holders' is talking fast and probably saying,
"Yeah, you could kick his ***, but I am not going to let you."
"Aw, c'mon, he started it!!"
"Yeah, he's a jackass, but he's not worth it. Besides, he's your boss."
'Doesn't matter, he insulted me!!!"
"Yeah, but you started it."
"No I didn't!!! HE did!!"
(A voice from the background)
"No I didn't, YOU did!!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
And so on and so forth.
These pansies 'duke' it out for about ten minutes, until one of them is sat down by 'Holding Back Likes to try to Fight Drunk on Soju Korean Guy'.
A nice little schoolyard discussion is had, while the other 'Holding Back Likes to try to Fight Drunk on Soju Korean Guy' is doing his job, the same thing.
All that is missing is a jump rope and a game of Kickball.
No punches were connected.
A lot of name calling.
Some tears.
And stretched shirts.
That's about it.
Another night at The Brooksider and everyone walks away, disappointed.
All I wanted to see was a 'Knock-Down-Drag-Out Brawl' and I got a lot of tail feathers in an uproar.
I don't miss The Brooksider.
Maybe Flo's, at least people hit each other with Escalades up there.
And Jim has Tuaca.
'Nuff said.
So.
As you can see, entertainment is cheap and plentiful.
BUT.
The clock was running and the crowd was getting restless, which can be easy, because there are 3,917 people anticipating the arrival of the train to Nowhere.
Dashing, darting, and deciding the route overtakes the thoughts.
Who to follow?
The little old lady with the cane?
What about the one with the shopping bags?
How's the one with the seaweed concoction in her hand? (I would get out of her way)
The one who's bowl-legged looks menacing, or is it her scowl?
The Adjumas (Romanized for those who don't speak Hangul) are the most entertaining of them all.
I have told you how they stop a speeding car with their hand, how they prepare Kim-chi on the streets, how they plow their way through a crowd, and how they cut in line in front of you.
But have I told you how they walk?
NO.
You see, it is my theory (and another guy's theory) that they are bowl-legged because they spend most of their lives seated cross-legged (we used to call this 'Indian-Style', but this term is outlawed).
Perhaps it's because they don't get enough calcium in their diet-I could make a killing selling calcium supplements. Black Market, anyone?
Either way, these cane toting Grammas are the cheapest form of entertainment I have found--including the scooters running into the back of taxis.
The Korean society is patriarchal and these ladies have been used and abused their whole lives and they intend on getting 'theirs' before they go wherever their beliefs take them.
And this, Folks, is why I love them.
They are tougher than a schoolyard bully, meaner than a pulling Guard going after your knees, stronger than Magnús Ver Magnússon (World Strongest Man), and mightier than some of the people waiting for tables at Jalapenos (you people could take some lessons).
Hours of funny antics.
Minutes of excruciating pain.
Mere seconds before you get blasted off the subway platform.
Example:
I am walking towards a train the other day, behind little Schoolgirl, a future Adjuma, and we are both heading towards the same platform.
Now.
I have no reason to run this girl into a wall nor do I want to, but we are moving at a pretty good clip.
Why?
Dunno, the train won't be coming for five minutes, so there is plenty of time.
Then.
Out of NOWHERE, she appears.
The Grand Duke of Adjumas and she has fire in her eyes and her shoulder dropped.
I spied her early enough to back off my speed, Schoolgirl wasn't as lucky.
My iPod's volume may have been on high, but my senses made up for the fact.
I sensed danger. It was in the air.
My eyes darting, the hair on my neck stands up, and BOOM, there she was........
SAVE YOURSELF, my mind says.
And I do.
I'm looking out for NUMBA One and that's ME.
Schoolgirl didn't know what hit her.
I did.
Adjuma.
The shoulder squares, the teeth bared, the attitude stronger than little Katlyn's or Devlin's in front of the candy selection at Hy-Vee.
Adjuma rams into little Schoolgirl and she goes-a-flyin'.
Adjuma doesn't even flinch.
This is good for me.
Now.
I don't profess to be a NASCAR fan, I don't see the purpose of turning left all day, but I have learned one thing in my quest for a great crash at Daytona, go between the cars that have just collided.
So I did, substitute the Rainbow Warrior and Jimmy Jack Paul (or whatever Bubba's name is today) and fly on by. ("Watch Goose, I'll slam on the brakes and he'll fly on by....." "C'mon Mav, quit screwin' around")
So.
While Schoolgirl is spinning out of control and flying past me, backwards, I take the inside shoulder of Adjuma and find my opening.
I see daylight and lots of it.
Adjuma is scowling.
Not at me.
Thanks to the powers that be.
She's attacking Schoolgirl with such venom a Navy SEAL would run.
Again, I may not know what she's saying, but I know WHAT she saying.
Schoolgirl is fighting the tears, huddled against a pole, cowering (it's part of the Adjuma training course).
Adjuma is WAILING.
All this is in my rear-view-mirror. Just where I like it.
Yet, I turn.
My laughs fill the platform, my pointing is obvious, and my 'HA-HA!!!' is as loud as loud can be.
Then the glare.
I should not have turned around, I've read Greek Mythology (plus, I saw 'Clash of the Titans') and I know the power of Medusa and she ain't got nuthin' on Adjuma.
Leave well enough alone.
Nope.
Not me.
As I am pointing and laughing, Adjuma's head spins on her shoulders--just like in the movies.
I let out a little scream.
I fear Adjuma will come after me.
Turning to run, I spot another Adjuma, little pink wearing coat Adjuma.
Dare I look her in the eye and be turned to stone or a pillar of salt?
Nay.
I am too smart for this or at least my Mommy tells me so.
So.
With Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes blasting in my ears (Teddy P's got it goin' on) I high-tail it to the end of the platform and hide behind a column to wait it out.
It works, but other Adjumas are about.
They smell blood, like Hyenas on the Savannah.
I'm like the Antelope (or Oryx), I dart and dash away, saving my arse for another day.
Schoolgirl isn't as lucky.
She is being ripped to shreds by a pride of Adjumas.
Poor thing.
She didn't know what hit her, which is good, no one wants to die a painful death.
So?
What have we learned?
We have learned to stay a distance away from Adjuma, don't look them in the eyes, DO NOT feed them, and when you see the shoulder drop, go left or right or backwards or drop to the floor and feign death.
The entertainment will take care of itself.
OK
Adjuma is out of the way.
No we go to ''Likes to try to fight Drunk on Soju Korean Guy".
Funny.
Worse than two lunkheads at the Brooksider posing for their friends, butnotactuallydoinganythingbecausetheydon'twantoriptheirBananaRepublicshirt.
Words.
More words.
Sigma Chi Guy (or the Korean Guy version) holding lunkhead back.
As if the guy is really going to do anything.
Screaming like little girls, posturing, feathers in an uproar.
This is what I witnessed on the way home from the bar the other night.
And it was funny.
Four lunkheads in the Dance of 'Not-Wanting-to-Fight-but-I-sound-Pretty-Tough'.
Falling down, stretching shirts, swinging like a blindfolded dork at a Pinata.
What a joke.
I've seen more action outside of The Brooksider at Three AM, er, Midnight, I never stay out that late, Mom.
One hits the ground after being spun out by the guy holding his shirt, another backs into a wall, hitting his head.
One of the 'holders' is talking fast and probably saying,
"Yeah, you could kick his ***, but I am not going to let you."
"Aw, c'mon, he started it!!"
"Yeah, he's a jackass, but he's not worth it. Besides, he's your boss."
'Doesn't matter, he insulted me!!!"
"Yeah, but you started it."
"No I didn't!!! HE did!!"
(A voice from the background)
"No I didn't, YOU did!!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
"Nuh-huh, you did!!"
And so on and so forth.
These pansies 'duke' it out for about ten minutes, until one of them is sat down by 'Holding Back Likes to try to Fight Drunk on Soju Korean Guy'.
A nice little schoolyard discussion is had, while the other 'Holding Back Likes to try to Fight Drunk on Soju Korean Guy' is doing his job, the same thing.
All that is missing is a jump rope and a game of Kickball.
No punches were connected.
A lot of name calling.
Some tears.
And stretched shirts.
That's about it.
Another night at The Brooksider and everyone walks away, disappointed.
All I wanted to see was a 'Knock-Down-Drag-Out Brawl' and I got a lot of tail feathers in an uproar.
I don't miss The Brooksider.
Maybe Flo's, at least people hit each other with Escalades up there.
And Jim has Tuaca.
'Nuff said.
So.
As you can see, entertainment is cheap and plentiful.
BUT.
- Stay out of Adjuma's way.
- You won't get to see an 'actual' fight.
- Watch out for puke on the ground. Yes. Puke. Another story for another time.
- Spit in the ashtrays. Yet another story for another time.
- And keep an eye out for scooters bashing into the back of taxis.
Labels: Seoul Musings
posted by Axton & friends | 2/10/2007 09:56:00 AM
3 Comments:
Bradster:
(1) Spit in the ashtray? We're waiting...
(2) In which training camp did the Adjumas learn to gang tackle?
(3) It sounds like Seoul has small packs of rednecks who get shitfaced and like to brawl (poorly). Just like the midwest.
Just an observation for those who seem to be comment challenged. For everyone except Brad, pay attention:
(A) You do not need to register as a blogger to add a comment. No username / password needed.
(B) To add a comment, click on the "Comments n" at the end of a specific blog.
(C) When the "Post a Comment On:" screen appears, first thing you do, click on the "Other" entry under the "Choose an identity" topic on the right of the screen. This will change the screen so that the only thing that you need to fill in is "Name".
(D) Key in the colored, wavey, word verification string as it appears on the screen. This is to protect the comment screen from automated (programmed) responses (a major source of SPAM).
(E) Type in your comment in the box at the top of the screen on the right. Type as much as you wish (or as much as you can stand). Use the scroll bar on the right to preview your comment.
(F) Proof your comment (this is not required, but will be appreciated by those who attempt to read it once posted).
(G) Click on the Orange "PUBLISH YOUR COMMENT" button at the bottom.
(F) It may take a while for your comment to actually get posted. And, unless you back all the way out, you browser may retain screens in its buffers (and not refresh when you look at them again).
Once again, no username/password registration needed. If you don't wish to identify yourself, then press the "Anonymous" button instead of "Other" in step C. It's nicer to identify yourself. Some blog masters will not allow anonymous postings. It's nice that ours is so accomodating.
Bradster:
(1) Spit in the ashtray? We're waiting...
(2) In which training camp did the Adjumas learn to gang tackle?
(3) It sounds like Seoul has small packs of rednecks who get shitfaced and like to brawl (poorly). Just like the midwest.
Just an observation for those who seem to be comment challenged. For everyone except Brad, pay attention:
(A) You do not need to register as a blogger to add a comment. No username / password needed.
(B) To add a comment, click on the "n Comments" at the end of a specific blog.
(C) When the "Post a Comment On:" screen appears, first thing you do, click on the "Other" entry under the "Choose an identity" topic on the right of the screen. This will change the screen so that the only thing that you need to fill in is "Name".
(D) Key in the colored, wavey, word verification string as it appears on the screen. This is to protect the comment screen from automated (programmed) responses (a major source of SPAM).
(E) Type in your comment in the box at the top of the screen on the right. Type as much as you wish (or as much as you can stand). Use the scroll bar on the right to preview your comment.
(F) Proof your comment (this is not required, but will be appreciated by those who attempt to read it once posted).
(G) Click on the Orange "PUBLISH YOUR COMMENT" button at the bottom.
(F) It may take a while for your comment to actually get posted. And, unless you back all the way out, you browser may retain screens in its buffers (and not refresh when you look at them again).
Once again, no username/password registration needed. If you don't wish to identify yourself, then press the "Anonymous" button instead of "Other" in step C. It's nicer to identify yourself. Some blog masters will not allow anonymous postings. It's nice that ours is so accomodating.
The reason you see two of the same comments is to show you how easy it can be.
Follow the directions.
Or be called a Simpleton.
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