Colloquial nude baseball
I have mentioned before that I tutor a man who owns a yogurt store. Recently, he told me he was selling his franchise. “No more free yogurt,” I sadly thought to myself, and asked him why. He told me it was too stressful and went on to give me an example. “If someone wants to quit, they don’t give me six months notice,” he whined. I said, “Six months?” in surprise, and he said, “Yes, it’s very stressful.” I cannot begin to count the number of times he has sent me a text message less than an hour before we are supposed to meet for a lesson and told me something has come up and he cannot make it. I’ve even arrived and begun the lesson and he’s asked to change it. I thought, “With all due respect, dude, it’s an ice cream store!” Anyone who knows me knows that I love frozen treats more than the next guy and his mother put together, but who makes a career of pulling the lever and squirting it into a plastic cup? [An aside: Speaking of careers, if anyone knows of a company who wants to hire an Internal Auditor, HELP! I am job searching in Hawaii—though not limiting options—and it seems impossible to get anyone to foot the bill for your trip out there because so many people abuse it for a free vacation without any real plans of relocating. (Why people wouldn’t want to move there is also worth pondering, but I know everyone has their reasons!)] Anyway… this guy can be pretty funny. We’ve had several “lost in translation” moments where I try my hardest not to laugh, for fear of making him afraid to practice, but some you just can’t help. Lately I’ve been covering colloquialisms, and I finished “I’ve got your back” and moved on to “C.Y.A.” Two necessary things to know that will undoubtedly come up at some point during his stint in America. Mixing the two and trying to comprehend the meaning, he said, “So, I’ve got your @$$…” and I looked at him, thinking he was joking. When I realized what wires he was crossing, I just cracked up. I explained that these two aren’t synonymous and you really shouldn’t ever say that again!
Last weekend while in Daegu, Sam and I decided we’d try to find a tailor who might be able to make him a shirt for his tuxedo that wasn’t at Seoul prices. (I recently had a formal dress and two dress shirts made. HUGE FAN! Nothing is ever long enough for me—and both of these were winners at reasonable prices. Well, reasonable prices for America anyway, but hey!) We meandered around the market area of the city and really just enjoyed ourselves and the exploration more than the purpose of our adventure. Foreigners rarely make appearances here, based on the looks we got from all the merchants. We decided we’d head to Citizen Stadium to see if we could get a schedule for the Daegu Lions professional baseball team when we stumbled upon a college game in its third inning. We walked through an open gate into the bleachers and took our (free) seats overlooking home plate and first base. Sam proceeded to pick a team for whom to root and tell me the strategies of each play and why they were or weren’t good while I enjoyed the randomness of finding such (cheap) fun that was still somehow a cultural experience. One of the players managed to anger the umpire, but unlike in America where it would’ve been blown off, there was much bowing and apologizing and whatnot going on. Sam and I looked at one another with a small amount of surprise, coupled with some amusement at the difference in where we are and where we are from. Then someone noticed the outsiders. The teams were changing for the upcoming inning and the cameraman put us whities on the big screen so that everyone— probably no more than 50 people—could see how worldly their game had become with the foreigners in attendance. We got a kick out of it, waved, and then got replaced by a local. We vowed that we would put on a better show for those watching if we made the cut again, but no such luck. However, we did put on a show on our return drive home. The weather was positively awful! Monsoon season still underway, the game finishing just as the drizzling turned into a downpour, the car was nearly a boat! We were being careful and going so slow that we could dance at the same time. Thinking no one would be watching, or be able to see through the falling rain, we headbanged and sang at the top of our lungs at one traffic light, only for Sam to look over to the passenger in the neighboring car doubled over in amusement, and the driver rubbernecking to see the cause of it all. Uh, whoops. Well, they were having such a good time watching us that we figured we could only play it up. Sam made a “hang loose” sign with his hand, stuck his tongue out, and rattled his head up and down, all while looking straight ahead and driving onward through the rain (Dad, don’t freak out—it wasn’t even half as rebellious as it sounds). My hair was on top of my head—total 80s style—and to cover my own laughter I was bobbing up and down as well. After their SUV passed us, we rested our antics and laughed at ourselves. Who says mixing cultures doesn’t benefit anyone!
I resolved that this weekend would be a good one to check out a deal a friend mentioned—a scrub, 50minute massage, and face pack for $50—and brought along my Canadian friend who lives around the corner. What the founder of this deal failed to mention was that this was at a sauna, which requires you to get naked in front of God and everybody. I’ve learned that there aren’t many things in life I’m not okay with, so long as I’m expecting them. This, however, I was not expecting. I decided to go against the grain and be the one everyone gawks at because I kept my undergarments on. The woman assigned to give me the massage insisted I go in the sauna room first and then that I strip down. I tried telling her that I’d already taken a shower and didn’t need to go scrub myself with a bunch of naked women, and that my undies were perfectly okay. Then she left, during which one of my friends nonchalantly paraded out of the sauna room, completely in the buff, to ask me a question. I’ve never been one great at concealing my feelings on my face, so you can imagine my surprise (how many of your friends have you seen completely naked—and if so, how many were completely sober when that happened?). Regardless, the whole event was just comical. The massage lady eventually returned, my friend hid herself away in another one of these rooms where they exfoliate every millimeter of your body and then pour cold milk on you, in addition to baby oil, and such was the end of the excitement. After our pampering—if you can call such an odd experience that—we went back in the locker room to change (or dress) and meet the third person in our party who had opted for a fully clothed sports massage. However, my naked friend was still naked. So my fully clothed friend, too, got the practice of holding a straight face when their eyes met. It’s not that it’s a big deal to be naked, because when you have to do it (like in the showers at the gym) you get used to it immediately. It’s the element of surprise, and then comparing it to the normal ways back home, it leaves one scratching her head and raising an eyebrow. But hopefully nothing else.
Copyright 2006 Olivia R. Reed
Last weekend while in Daegu, Sam and I decided we’d try to find a tailor who might be able to make him a shirt for his tuxedo that wasn’t at Seoul prices. (I recently had a formal dress and two dress shirts made. HUGE FAN! Nothing is ever long enough for me—and both of these were winners at reasonable prices. Well, reasonable prices for America anyway, but hey!) We meandered around the market area of the city and really just enjoyed ourselves and the exploration more than the purpose of our adventure. Foreigners rarely make appearances here, based on the looks we got from all the merchants. We decided we’d head to Citizen Stadium to see if we could get a schedule for the Daegu Lions professional baseball team when we stumbled upon a college game in its third inning. We walked through an open gate into the bleachers and took our (free) seats overlooking home plate and first base. Sam proceeded to pick a team for whom to root and tell me the strategies of each play and why they were or weren’t good while I enjoyed the randomness of finding such (cheap) fun that was still somehow a cultural experience. One of the players managed to anger the umpire, but unlike in America where it would’ve been blown off, there was much bowing and apologizing and whatnot going on. Sam and I looked at one another with a small amount of surprise, coupled with some amusement at the difference in where we are and where we are from. Then someone noticed the outsiders. The teams were changing for the upcoming inning and the cameraman put us whities on the big screen so that everyone— probably no more than 50 people—could see how worldly their game had become with the foreigners in attendance. We got a kick out of it, waved, and then got replaced by a local. We vowed that we would put on a better show for those watching if we made the cut again, but no such luck. However, we did put on a show on our return drive home. The weather was positively awful! Monsoon season still underway, the game finishing just as the drizzling turned into a downpour, the car was nearly a boat! We were being careful and going so slow that we could dance at the same time. Thinking no one would be watching, or be able to see through the falling rain, we headbanged and sang at the top of our lungs at one traffic light, only for Sam to look over to the passenger in the neighboring car doubled over in amusement, and the driver rubbernecking to see the cause of it all. Uh, whoops. Well, they were having such a good time watching us that we figured we could only play it up. Sam made a “hang loose” sign with his hand, stuck his tongue out, and rattled his head up and down, all while looking straight ahead and driving onward through the rain (Dad, don’t freak out—it wasn’t even half as rebellious as it sounds). My hair was on top of my head—total 80s style—and to cover my own laughter I was bobbing up and down as well. After their SUV passed us, we rested our antics and laughed at ourselves. Who says mixing cultures doesn’t benefit anyone!
I resolved that this weekend would be a good one to check out a deal a friend mentioned—a scrub, 50minute massage, and face pack for $50—and brought along my Canadian friend who lives around the corner. What the founder of this deal failed to mention was that this was at a sauna, which requires you to get naked in front of God and everybody. I’ve learned that there aren’t many things in life I’m not okay with, so long as I’m expecting them. This, however, I was not expecting. I decided to go against the grain and be the one everyone gawks at because I kept my undergarments on. The woman assigned to give me the massage insisted I go in the sauna room first and then that I strip down. I tried telling her that I’d already taken a shower and didn’t need to go scrub myself with a bunch of naked women, and that my undies were perfectly okay. Then she left, during which one of my friends nonchalantly paraded out of the sauna room, completely in the buff, to ask me a question. I’ve never been one great at concealing my feelings on my face, so you can imagine my surprise (how many of your friends have you seen completely naked—and if so, how many were completely sober when that happened?). Regardless, the whole event was just comical. The massage lady eventually returned, my friend hid herself away in another one of these rooms where they exfoliate every millimeter of your body and then pour cold milk on you, in addition to baby oil, and such was the end of the excitement. After our pampering—if you can call such an odd experience that—we went back in the locker room to change (or dress) and meet the third person in our party who had opted for a fully clothed sports massage. However, my naked friend was still naked. So my fully clothed friend, too, got the practice of holding a straight face when their eyes met. It’s not that it’s a big deal to be naked, because when you have to do it (like in the showers at the gym) you get used to it immediately. It’s the element of surprise, and then comparing it to the normal ways back home, it leaves one scratching her head and raising an eyebrow. But hopefully nothing else.
Copyright 2006 Olivia R. Reed
posted by LSULiv | 2:27 PM
1 Comments:
good stuff, olivia, good stuff. so now you know I really do read your blog! Lynn
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