I almost just went to bed without writing this entry, but I love you guys THAT MUCH, such that I came back to the laptop, turned it back on, and opened up blogger.com (which, incidentally, has not been smoothly operational lately; I think they're doing some behind the scenes work these days).

I am a little pooped, having slept 6 hours last night (and several other nights in the past week). I think it started when I stayed up until 4 on Wed. night/Thurs. morning. Screwed up my whole sleep schedule.

What did I do this weekend? Hm. I had dinner with three other gyopos (ethnic Koreans living overseas) on Friday night. One was Mia, the Korean Canadian girl from my school whom everyone says resembles me. She's funny. And smart. And kooky. (Wait, I don't mean that "Like me, she is funny, etc." I mean, she is funny, etc. Period.) Mia brought her friend Warren, a 23-year-old Korean American guy working for the Korean Herald, the largest English language paper in Korea. And Warren brought his friend David, a 28-year-old Korean Canadian guy working freelance for some Boston paper.

David was all bummed because that morning, he found out that his big story, which was to have run in the Boston Globe, had fallen through. It was about North Korean refugees (I promised not to tell any details about it) and it sounded really, really cool. Unfortunately, as a side effect of SARS, his story is basically dead.

I felt the way I usually do around journalists -- conflicted. On one hand, I think, "Boy, these people are so smart, and they get every reference and they're so well-read and it's so nice to be able to talk about Monica Lewinsky's TV gig and Hamid Karzai and have everyone be right on board and shoot back witty repartee so fast I get whiplash tyring to follow." And on the other hand, I think, "I am a big, stoopid dork. I am not reporting on events of global concern. I am not freelancing for a major U.S. paper. I cannot understand the Korean news. I am a giant LOSAH!"

Still, I had a laugh or two, especially when David mentioned that he might be getting out of journalism soon, and we asked what he might do instead. He said, "Well, I have a couple of books to write that wouldn't take very long to do and would sell really well."

I had to laugh at this. I then told Warren, "You know that Seinfeld episode where George pretends he was the architect of the Guggenheim? And he says, 'Yeah... didn't take too long, eitha'?"

I think I might have hurt David's feelings (if journalists/political wonks have 'em), but c'mon. You make a comment like that and you are beggin' for it.

It was a weird night. It's strange to hang out with gyopos. Kind of stressful. Not at all how I feel with people from other countries. Like they'll see right through me. (And see what? I dunno.)

Anyway. On Saturday I went to work and then had lunch with a really nice woman who used to work as a stewardess for British Airways. She wanted to see an exhibit at the Seoul Arts Center, so we walked over there and had a good laugh at the poster of a man's face with various forms of kimchee silkscreened over his features. I showed her the story "wrote by cindy" (see last entry), and we had a good laugh over that as well.

On Saturday night, I went to meet Lewis, the New Zealand fellow in my class, for a drink at Jamsil metro station. He was late, and when he finally arrived, the last train back to Shinchon (where he lives) was due to leave in 20 minutes. Undecided what to do, we went to the only available watering hole -- a huge, HUGE pojang macha (a outdoor tented eatery) right outside the station. Hey, maybe we could belt down a drink in 20 and he could head home. But no. We downed three large bottles of (admitted weak) beer, and then decided to just head to my dad's apartment where he could crash the night. Before then, though, we stopped at another bar. And then headed home to swill yet more in my room. I was just short of being whirligig drunk and babbled on and on about various things like a moron, but of course Lewis, who's from the countryside in NZ, was all, "I could have about five more beahs."

(A note here: Not what you think, because I'm sure somebody is thinking SOMEthing along those lines. I'll tell you the truth, though: despite my nonchalant "I do this every weekend" rico suavity, I was, somewhere deep inside my drunken head, all like, "Whoa. Here's like, this guy, whom I really don't know outside of class, and with whom I have just now spent ANY time alone with, and he's coming over to my house to sleep over. This is weird. Wait. Does this mean I'm, like, cool or something? Hey, yeah... that's the ticket... Whoo hoo! I SO am cool! I am coolness personified! I am so cosmopolitan, I dream in pink! I swill! I swoot! I am hip and swingin' and guys crash at my pad all the time! In fact, I'm SWIMMING in guys who crash at my place -- ALL THE TIME! I'm -- oops, I better be quiet, or else Dad will wake up.")

(Anyway, you get the picture. I'm just innocent me, and it was quite weird to have a guy -- albeit one whom I've seen every weekday for four hours for the past four months -- crash overnight.)

So we were up til 4 on Sat. night/Sun. morning just shooting the breeze about this and that, and that is why my sleep schedule is still screwed up and so I went to sleep at 1 am last night and only got 6 hours of sleep. Okay, I have to go to bed now. Uckhl.