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I Love My Baby Daddy

Oh, there are multiple babies? That's okay. I love my babies' daddy.Wait, that's not it either? Multiple daddies, you say? Well, of course there are. I love my babies' daddies!Er... what? Ah, to Hell with it.I'm just sad this isn't my shirt, really. I mock because I envy.(as an aside, I probably shouldn't mock the grammar on a shirt when I'm hours beyond the point at which I could still properly,


I’ll never forget the first time I tried chocolate milk. It was New Years Eve 2001 and I was at a festival in the rainforest on Australia’s southern coast. I was on the tail end of a pretty serious bout of food poisoning that had seen the previous two days (one of which was my 19th birthday) either shivering in my tent or chained to one of the festival portaloos, and chocolate milk was the first thing I had ingested that hadn’t come straight out again in some shape or form.

Over the next weeks and months my friend Pete and I (who shared a similar love) became connoisseurs, tasting and grading every variety we encountered as we travelled from Melbourne to Perth in an ultimately fruitless search of work. For us, nothing else equalled the sensation of having just consumed a pint of cold, chocolatey liquid in less than ten seconds, and we started to really push the envelope, at one point drinking four or five a day.

When I returned to Ireland I searched for something of a similar calibre but always in vain. For a long time the only options were either small cartons of Mars or Nesquick “chocolate flavoured” drinks or a big chunky bottle of Yazoo chocolate milkshake, all with obscenely long shelf lives and nothing approaching the boxy aesthetics and cleansing freshness of the Australian varieties. Later, Iceland and Morrissons started to produce their own versions, albeit with tighter use-by dates, but for me these always tasted somewhat synthetic, and packaged in a plastic bottle, just plain wrong. My chocolate milk career had been cut short in its prime.

When I arrived in Korea, however, everything changed. Remarkably, for a country where dairy doesn’t do so well (non-processed cheese is a precious commodity and natural yogurt non-existent) they’ve somehow managed to hit chocolate milk bang square on the head. As in Australia there are numerous varieties, each with their subtleties of taste and individual characters, but after somewhat extensive testing I have settled on a favourite.

At 305ml Cocoa is the largest volume-wise out of those I’ve tried, but this bad boy has got more than just quantity going for it. Silky smooth and ice cold, Cocoa manages to avoid the sweet excesses of its contempories, while still delivering a cool, throat-coating hit. Moreish by nature, it is impossible to drink one of these slowly, and I usually dispense with mine in no more than a few gulps.

The last time I was in London a psychic told me, unsolicited, that I needed to live in a warm climate to be happy. I believed this for a while, now I just think I need access to a good chocolate milk.

I Don't Get Invited to Many Funerals

I'm feeling batty again. Nearly five minutes has passed since I last felt the Batty Bug, so I'm due. When the Batty Bug bites I find that I have 5 different things to ramble about and completely lack the ability to stay on one topic long enough to form a coherent thought about any of them.I'm even worse to have spoken conversation with when the Batty Bug has hit. Tonight I managed to segue from a

Jap Chae, Korean Glass Noodles

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New Barbie is a Douche

When The Boss Man started looking for a new foreign teacher to replace me, I advised him that he really ought to let me speak to them. I promised that I'd say only nice things about Barbie Hawgon, that I'd had a fabulous experience, and I'd be happy to do what I could to encourage the new recruit that Barbie Hagwon was the place to be. I am worried that The Boss Man started recruiting a month too

A Brother-and-Sister Sixsome

Found on a restaurant sign near Pusan National University:Because fucking your cousin is so passé.I ... just don't understand. How do these things happen? I refuse to put any further thought into this. I'm happy that they do happen (absurd slogans, that is. I refuse to even consider how to properly emote in response to true family orgies), and will leave it at that.

Kingdom O'Sullivain

I recently got my medical card from the Korean authorities and was surprised/amused to see this inventive mis-spelling of my name. While it would most likely be prudent to sort this out as soon as possible so as not to delay any organ or blood transfusions in the event that i get hit by a taxi, Kingdom O. Sullivain is just so much cooler than my real name.

Woe is the Won

Fuck this noise.The Korean won has decided to die a horrible death just prior to my receiving my final pay checks and severance. In the end, I will probably "lose" close to a grand. Technically, I can't lose on something that hasn't been paid out yet. But, had I been scheduled to get out of here two months ago I would have had an extra grand. Happiness does not ensue. Much anger ensues.Today, I

Drama Festival

Sarah and I have just enjoyed our Korean TV debut thanks to our participation in the school’s annual drama festival, the self-proclaimed jewel in the crown of the Kids Club Calendar and, for some, the reason behind weeks of hard work and stress.

Held every September, The Kids Club Drama Festival is as much an opportunity for the students to sing and dance in front of their parents as it is for the school to show off their foreign teachers. This year, the presence of a TV crew meant the stakes were particularly high, and the whole month of September was given over to ensuring everything ran smoothly.

The set up is simple; each student must perform a solo song and participate in a class play, as well as take part in a number of other performances designed to demonstrate their firm and improving grasp of the English Language. The fact that they have just spent a month not learning any new English whatsoever doesn’t really come in to it and is pretty indicative of the Hagwon system, where the appearance of learning is almost as important as the learning itself.

Anyway, due to the vagarities of casting or a low estimation of my abilities, I was put in three minor roles, with a total of approximately 8 lines. Sarah on the other hand was given four pretty hefty roles with lots of lines, including Snow White to my Prince – the source of a lot of amusement amongst old and young Koreans alike. Every morning for four weeks we would attend play practice and dutifully chip in our lines, while the Korean Kindegarten teachers slowly exploded with the stress of making 4 – 10 year olds act out a foreign language play with, if not coherence, at least some semblance of continuity.

As the day approached tensions ran high, particularly with regards to some uncertainty over whether we would actually get paid (to inquire about such things in Korea, as we found out, is tantamount to treason) for our efforts. Rehearsals weren’t going well, thanks in no small part to some pretty incoherent scripts, and I was starting to doubt whether it would be pulled off. Thanks to my pretty inconsequential role in things I was able to observe this maelstrom from an emotional distance, but others weren’t quite so lucky. With a huge amount of lines to learn, not to mention a number of song and dance routines, I think it’s fair to say that Sarah was feeling the pressure. After only two bungled rehearsals in the Stalinist Auditorium the stage was set – it was showtime! (sorry.)

The day itself was a bit of a mixed bag. Pissed off as we were about spending our precious Saturday working, the kids excitement was undeniably infectious and the backstage area had a good atmosphere as the teachers paraded their costumes and trundled out onto the stage. Sarah and I were in the first play of the day (Snow White) and I’m not ashamed to admit that it was with trembling legs that I stood in the wings awaiting my cue. When it came (a princely fanfare) I galloped onto the stage to rouse the poisoned Snow White with a concealed, though scandalous, kiss (the kids are still talking about it.) Contrary to my predictions, the day seemed to pass with relatively few hitches and everything appearing to come together, in typical Korean style, at the very last minute.

I’d taken the whole Drama Festival period with a heavy dose of scepticism, but as we were ushered onto stage to mime the final song with the kids (one which we had been given the words to the night before and had never even heard) I began to realise its importance. The mothers were all lined up at the front of the stage throwing their kids flowers, some of them weeping with the emotion of it all (drawing the attention away from the fact that none of us knew the song.). It struck me that this is something that both parents and children (and I) were likely to remember for years to come, and I felt pk to be a part of it.


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