Hills of Daejeon, valleys of Hongdae

I forgot how different the hills of the mainland are from the hills of Jeju. Sandy red-brown dirt and undulating razorback ridges, as opposed to the black volcanic dirt and uniformly domed oreums of Sausage-fest Island. It was a spectacular day for climbing. Back to NYE. tyrann-E and I wacked down a 6 apiece like Frank Rizzo, before hitting Hongdae, a club area in Seoul I grew tired of when I wore a mainlander's shoes. We hit a rock club, which is key. Good music is key. I don't even care if it's bad music, as long as it's got a backbeat I can't lose it. Between the free gin on arrival and the kebab paper-eating, about 8 hours elapsed, but I'm still trying to forensically reconstruct this gap. I remember dancing on stage. And by dancing, I mean whiplash head-banging and Pete Townsend-style bottlefist-flailing air guitar. You don't know what it's like. Oh, and I also met one of the stars of 'Chatting with the Beauties', a popular Korean show where foreign girls fluent in Korean kiss Korea's ass on tv. She's one of the faces of Korean tourism, and strangely, is not the first face of Korean tourism I've chatted with. That's a story for another month.