It’s official, conventions of reality have taken a holiday, and now only dream logic applies.
Ptolemy (the P is silent) declared on Friday that “anarchy rules”, and so it shall! So it did!
First, there was an all-you-can-drink buffet of beer. That sounds crazier than it was. Also the beer was kind of crap, but what can you do? Just drink up.
There was a Korean girl making out with every western foreign man in Island Stone bar last night, so I got in line. Somebody told me this was a bad idea. Why?
Some thoughts on bad ideas; people tell you something is a bad idea, and it is instilled within you that something is a bad idea, but it is existentially a bad idea? Like, there are actual ‘bad ideas’ which exist separate from our subjective life, such as sticking your hand in a wasp’s nest or rooting for the Yankees to win. Then there are bad ideas which are only so because someone said it but they don’t know shit. Like gay sex or eating without utensils.
I’m willing to accept the consequences of being a high maintenance mess. All pretenses to the contrary don’t seem to be getting me anywhere. I did the teacher thing, I did the dog-owner thing. As long as I am on “high school island”, I am willing to embrace the identity of an angry young man. I am Slightly Soiled, leader of the lost boys while Peter Pan goes off to London to have a wank or two.
Back to the story: there was an epic hat exchange at some point during the night at “Jane’s Groove”, a shitty dance club I’ve mentioned in this blog before. I have a cowboy hat I’m particularly fond of, its also been seen on this blog. Eventually, the hats were unswapped and the girl got her black hat back and I got my cowboy hat back.
Except by the time I got my hat back, it wasn’t my hat anymore. That’s what some of the patrons and the bouncers were telling me. All these Koreans yelling at me telling me to give them (who exactly?) MY hat because it wasn’t my hat, even though it was.
It was like Kafka for retards.
I was drunk, but lucid. A man knows his hat. There were not identical hats in the bar. I even tried to show them where Onya had spit on the brim. No I didn’t.
The hat crisis devolved quickly into a display of aggression on the part of the bouncers. Some of them grabbed my arms, one person got his hands around my throat. Jonny Richardson got his hands around my legs, but this was to either pull me back inside or to use them as a dancing pole, but we’ll never know for sure.
Anyway, I was willing to go down the stairs and out of the bar, at least I think I was in theory, but on principle if someone grabs your throat that’s going to send you into attack mode. I went Mike Tyson on this motherfucker and by the time I made it downstairs this idiot was clutching his bleeding thumb as if someone had just bitten it to get it off his windpipe.
I was outnumbered by like six to one but lucky for me Dakota’s posse came to the rescue just in time and we had ourselves an olde fashion drunk standoff. Girls screaming “oh my god oh my god!”, waeguks and Koreans holding each other back. The bouncers kept on staring at me telling me to go home, one of my friends pushed me away from the scene.
I wasn’t really helping my situation, I started making rude hand gestures and such from my position about 200 feet away, and the bouncers left their post to try to kick the shit out of me again, but they were held back by the mighty arms of justice/Taylor??.
And the night ended at Family Mart and they all lived happily ever after.
Today is my last day with Onya, I’m very sad about this, tomorrow we go to Daegu and she will have a new home and I will cry and she will cry just as Jesus wept for our sins, but probably not like that.
Culture Time 
Although not your finest moment, perhaps your finest post, just shy of a short story.