Getting my husband to the dentist is like pulling teeth

Well, the husband and I are reconsidering our plans to relocate, for a few worthy reasons. One, North Korea is crazy and causes us to fret. The fact that they have missiles pointing at the South and have already shot at a few civilians have made us a little more thoughtful than we usually are. But that would not stop us from going there still, unless, of course, there were actually a war about to happen, and I don't think the war is about to break out again. (Public opinion in Korea always has to be taken with a grain of salt, and even though South Koreans are more fired up than usual about the latest attack, things could still die down...). I don't know numbers or stats or anything, but I figure that the most likely cause of death we might suffer in Korea would be not from the North but from a drunken ajosshi barreling down on us in his Hyundai as we attempted to jaywalk across an intersection.

So, despite the fact that there is the possibility of war, this in and of itself is not necessarily the biggest deterrent.

What is, however, the biggest obstacle to our eventual dreams of being able to eat at "Kimpap Changuk" for each and every single meal is not Juche ideology but the fact that Matt has ridiculous, bred-in-the-British-Isles teeth. His dentist told him several years ago that he'd eventually have to get his wisdom teeth removed or else they would cause indescribable pain and torment for the rest of his life. Well, when "eventually" is a word that can be interpreted according to the will and the desires of those who are in the position of needing a significant amount of dental surgery, it becomes interminable.

  (Source: Hyperbole and a Half)

A little background.... I have an amazing job (most of the time) teaching English at a university here in Canada. As a result, I, (along with the rest of my family) get thoughtful health and dental benefits. One of the perks is a dental cleaning and check-up once a year. Well, as the summer transformed into autumn, I felt it my duty to persistently remind Matt of the fact that he had not yet taken advantage of the dental cleaning/check-up for 2010. As the autumn days shortened with snowfall, I increased my reminders, which began to be accompanied by stares of reproach and phrases such as: "As a responsible adult, you have the responsibility to be responsible for your own health." No. Still no luck. December and my patience were both running out.

Finally, I broke, and called the dentist's office myself a week or so before Xmas (something I had promised myself I wouldn't do, because Matt had to be "responsible" for himself). No, I was informed, there were no openings until the New Year - no good because my insurance covers one check-up a year. Matt gloated. I fumed. How could he do this to me? To us? Our family? He had to be responsible! Dammit! Determined that he would be in the dentist's chair before the year was out, I put his name on the waiting list. Then I called about six other dentists' offices and had his name put on waiting lists, as well. Then, I waited.

Well, lo and behold, my tenacity was rewarded. In only a few short days, he had an appointment booked with the dentist. He went, begrudgingly, only to come home with the news that "eventually" was no longer eventual, but now meant "get your ass to that X-ray now because if you don't get your wisdom teeth taken out ASAP, the rest of your life will not be worth living."

So I finally understood the full extent of Matt's skillful avoidance of dentists (I mean, I understood the part about his trauma as a preteen when his embittered and distracted dentist administered an insufficient amount of anaesthetic as he discussed his divorce with his assistant); if Matt doesn't know about the full nature of the problem, then he can go on living like everything is flowers and crap like that. No... dental surgery is in his near future.

So, it might be a year or more until he goes under because of Canadian-style waiting lists for surgeries and the like. We'll have to wait and see.

Stomach Linings are for Sissies

It seems that everyone and their grandmother here is suffering from stomach cancer. Korea has the highest rates of stomach cancer in the world (if statistics, particularly the ones we've read, are to be considered true), and it's no real surprise when the men drink gallons of soju. (Soju is an alcoholic beverage much like vodka but uses rice instead of potatoes - at least in its original form. But the common, cheap stuff you buy in tetra packs, bottles or multi-litre sized jugs from the convenience stores (what everybody drinks) is in fact made from watered-down ethyl alcohol - silly North Americans... we were always told that stuff'll make you blind...wait, maybe it does, as that would explain their driving habits). Aside from the soju, which the women don't drink nearly as much of as the men (they use it as a cleaning product), you have the gochuchang, or the ubiquitous red pepper paste (or, as Matt calls it, the very fuel that all of Korea runs on). It is piled into pretty much everything they eat - it's a key ingredient in kimchi (the national food), soups, stews, barbecue dishes and is a product other than soju which can be purchased in pails of 20 litres or more.

Our personal favorite dish that uses gochuchang can only be purchased from the restaurant in the main floor of our apartment block. We don't actually know the name of the place, because... well, we've never really bothered to learn it (the sign is in "fancy-lookin'" Hangeul (Korean), so it is simply known to us as the "Spicy Tofu place"(where's the echo button? asks Matt).

The story of the spicy tofu began on New Year's Eve. We prepared an elaborate dinner, including pickled, spicy sesame leaves, ramyen (mmm...instant noodles), kimpap (Korean "sushi" - don't EVER call it that, though!), kimchi (of course), rice, and the legendary "Tofu.....fu....fu...fu".

When we ordered the food, the cook and the waitress both tried to discourage us, saying it was much to spicy for foreigners, but we managed to convince them we could handle it. We had no idea what we were getting into....

Matt accused me of trying to kill him with the spiciest food he'd ever eaten, and I think we both had several heart attacks after the first three bites (the crazy thing about spicy tofu, though, is that you can't stop eating it once you've started). So, with eyeballs sweating, and barely able to breathe, we made it through the first encounter. Matt prayed it would be our last.

But once that tasty MSG/BBQ spicyness bites, you can never go back!!! The craving for Spicy Tofu can get so intense, that some nights, when they would run out of tofu, I would run down to the tiny, family-run restaurant with a brilliant smile and a block of tofu from home in hand, and the owner/cook would spy the tofu, clap her hands and laugh. But she'd cook our tofu for us, in her inimitable spicy way, AND give us a discount! (The language of "Spicy Tofu" relies not on words).

Now, we have become trusted customers. If they have no tofu when we order our beloved dish, the cook will unhesitatingly send out her daughter (also the waitress) into the monsoon rains to buy a block of tofu from a shop down the street.

It's been nearly seven months since that near-death experience on New Year's Eve, and Spicy Tofu has quickly nestled its way into our hearts and through our stomach linings.

We love you Spicy Tofu!!

Joe's Birthday

And then he was two........bah bah ba bahm. Crazy the responsibilities that come with being two years old. Such as having to dance for an hour straight to the same song, not for fun but as though your very sanity depends on it (probably more ours than his, as the war of attrition that is raising a two year old rages on in full swing). It's not as though Great Big Sea's "Donkey Riding" is all that bad of a song, but everyday all day it's "donkey riding", "just donkey riding" or if he's been told no more, it becomes "donkey ride, no no no". But it was Joe's birthday and if he wanted to listen to nothing else for a solid hour then I guess he picked a good day to ask for it.

All in all, Joe had a pretty fantastic day. His birthday included a trip to the Wal-Mart playroom, fancy yellow Kart-Racer shoes (with flashing lights to boot...sorry, I couldn't help myself), along with several new books from his Grandpa via Amazon.com, some plastic jungle animals, part of a model train, and a couple stuffed toys and marbles from Tae-Young (our boss's son, who has developed a great fondness for Joe), combined with a whole lot of balloons and access to the "big fan button" ( after two years it's not even remotely strange that the remote control to the air conditioner was probably his favorite part of the day). Sadly, though, right as he was presented with la piece de resistance, a delicious, succulent birthday cake fresh from the ovens of the bakery downstairs, he was hit with a fever, and spent the next day and a half clutched to his mom (and sometimes dad, if he was feeling better), digesting only children's "Tyrenol" and juice. (Dammit, Mom and Dad, I was sick and you ate most of my birthday cake!)

Today was Joe's first day with Hyun Ju, his new babysitter. We think it will be a much better experience for him. No more bite marks, scratches, or slaps upside the head with packages of pickled radish from Yoo Bin. After only one day, he has already started calling her "halmoni", which is Korean for "grandmother".

Yellow Dust

"Are you sure you want to go to Korea? Don't you know how bad the air is?"

Well, no, there is no possible way you can really know how bad the air can be until you live through "Hwang-Sa" (literally translated, it means yellow dust, which can, strangely enough, also be translated to mean "yellow death"). Fortunately, the air is usually not all that bad, as you can clearly see in the second picture. But every spring, the winds blow through the Gobi Desert in Mongolia, transporting a cloud of dust through China, (where, we have been told, it picks up a barrage of heavy metals and other pollutants, cadmium being among the most popular), finally settling on the Korean peninsula where it sticks to the backs of our throats, all the while giving us this wonderful skyline.

There were men on the street yesterday handing out free face masks to those passing by. The yellow dust is returning again tonight....

But soon, the air will clear up again. I'm told that Saturday was the worst day for yellow dust in four years. There was apparently 1mg of airborne particles for every cubic centimeter. What the hell does that mean, you ask? (Apparently, it's pretty bad).