The Korean word for "friend" is "chingu." My new chingu Kara (that's her in the hat), who teaches at a hogwan (private academy) across town did a guest talk in my speech class, and taught us that the way to say"friend" in American Sign Language is to make two little fishhooks with your index fingers, link them together, and shake them around a bit.
The other teachers at the school also make good friends. Here's us doing some friend things:
This place is called "The Brewhouse" or simply "The Brew." It's where Mr. Ray, who is not pictured here, goes about 4 nights a week to hang out and drink the smelly, bitter fluid in the cylinder. The Brew has given him his own table, his own throne, and a special silver ornamented chalice from which he, and only he, drinks. I'm really quite jealous. The Brew's main selling point seems to be its sizeable population of drunk middle-aged businesspeople and their spouses, who, to be honest, are a pretty lively and fun bunch. No complaints here. Except about the beer.
I was also fortunate enough to enjoy a two-month-long visit from Ben Crane, a friend from Wesleyan.
Ben is a writer, and quite a good one, by all accounts. He lived on my couch for two months and during the day he wrote, ate ramen noodles, played video games (just a bit), read David McCullough's biography of John Adams, and wore pants maybe 30% of the time. Living the dream, baby. I miss him. If any of y'all want to spend two months on the couch, well, you should know you've got big shoes to fill.
I have a blurry picture of two more special friends:
Their respective names are "Max Elliot Winston" and "Friend 3," also known as "Little Friend." Max is the brunette. Friend 3 is the puppy.
Max is a graduate of Princeton University, where he did his thesis on the patterns of leaf fungus farms laid by leafcutter ants in Panama. More importantly, he is a native of Montpelier, Vermont, which is a mere 30 minutes from my hometown of Essex. By some twist of fate we have both ended up teaching at KFS and living together in a sweet 3-bedroomer on the third floor. More on the apartment later.
Everyone thinks Max and I look alike. I don't really see it. How about some more pictures:
Please note that while I may have helmet hair, I do know how to frame a photograph. Anyway, I guess it's okay. I think it might be the Vermont thing - maybe we talk the same or something. All I really know is that it would be great if the students stopped calling me "Mr. Winston" and asking me if Max and I are twins. I suppose we might as well be. In the third week of school, we both left class, met in the bathroom, switched clothes, and taught each other's class. Max's students called me out after about 15 seconds. My students didn't know what was going on until I walked back into the classroom 10 minutes later.
White people all look the same, anyway.
Little Friend is the landlord's dog. Her predecessors, Friend 1 and Friend 2, both lived chained outside the apartments. Friend 1 was a friendly cocker spaniel belonged to the school's owner, but he was confined to the outdoors because he was "too smelly." The boss has never attempted to give him a bath. Friend 2 was a grown-up version of Little Friend, and she lived outside because...well, just because. They have both been deported to the bosintang farm down the road, which means that they are now soup. Circle of life, I guess.
Little Friend is living a slightly better life. After she sustained a prolonged and meaningless beating from the landlord for having pooped in the wrong place 3 days prior, the teachers had a sit-down with the boss and we worked out some ethical guidelines. Little Friend is now fed and watered daily, is not beaten, and will not become soup anytime soon. She's very happy and adorable. She's growing up fast, and has entered a rather bitey phase, but she's a great little friend to visit on the way to work. Let's close with another blurry photo.
Awwww.
