Engrish anyone?

So one thing you need to know about Korea is that most of people hear have had a few years English in school which they promptly forget. So just like I can remember a few things of high school Spanish (aka hello, goodbye, and can mispronounce everything on menu at Las Margaritas)....so do the Korean's with English. But because their language is SO different than English....the words and the thoughts get mixed up very easily (their grammer reminds me of Yoda from Star wars) . So all the numbers you would recognize...and a vast majority of the stores all have Korean lettering (called Hangugo for anyone that actually cares) The occasional store/restaurant will use English for its name. When they come up with slogans....or attempt translations....they don't always translate well. This is known as engrish (with an R) My picture this week is of the first restaurant I went to in Korea. Being an American, my boss decided to take me across the street for pizza. (never mind there was a Pizza Hut 2 blocks away....) The restaurant is called "Mr Pizza" and their sloan is "Love for women" The pizza was different...good...but different.... Instead of sausage and pepperoni...it had potatoes, corn chips, corn, and something that reminded me of the butter you get on top of the pancakes at Denny's.

Anywho...if anyone can figure out how "Love for women" is supposed to get me to eat their pizza...could they please explain it to me....its been driving me crazy every time walk by (twice a day)

lets start before the beginging...that's a very good place to start

SO...where to being...how about the flight....or how about before then...the packing. I managed to fill both of my checked baggage with 50 pounds of stuff in one suitcase and 45 pounds in the other. I go to the airport and say goodbye to my parents. I go to check my luggage....only to find that I my large suitcase (the 50 pounder) went on a ice cream binge the night before and had gained 5 pounds. Well I sure didn't want to pay to over sized baggage fee!!! Hence I began a mad luggage reordering in the middle of the terminal. The densest item I had were my shoes. So one pair went into my light suitcase and the other went into my carryon. Bamm...50.5 pounds...well I was holding up the line. The lady decided to let it slide...WHEW... Now on to the rest of the embaressment that is airport security. I removed my while I stood my fellow passengers dragged our feet in line like cattle at the slaughter house. I approached the first guard and handed over my passport. This must the certifed passport fraud inspecor. He shined a "special security" light on my picture (or as I called it in college, a black light)....I finally made it to the gauntlet. I took off my shoes, jacket, removed my laptop and camera, walked thru the metal dector. The greying guardsman asked me for my papers. My hands flew to my chest...only to realize that my jacket was getting pounded by infrared and x-rays. I shrugged my shoulders, pointed to the convaer belt, and pointed to my what should be my breast pocket. (Why I converted to sign language before while still stateside is beyond me...) The guard told me to stand up against the wall. He waited for my jacket appear out the rear end of the machine and pulled out my boarding pass and passport. Giving them the once over to make sure that I had traded passports with any in the 20 feet since the last security guard...and gave a sigh like I was holding up the line. My troubles were over until I saw the next guard pulling my carryon off the rack and pulling it towards her. I was impressed, but then again, she looked like she played rugby in college. You know the types, stocky build, short hair...I flashed her a smile and flashed her a smile and asked her what was wrong (the smile had no effect...did I mention rugby...) She unzipped my bag and started running swabs around its interrior. When those came back negative. She turned around and asked me where I was keeping the knives. KNIVES!!! Even I know better than that!!! I told her I didn't pack any knives. She snorted and pulled out the boots that I had transfered from my checked baggage and reached inside. To pull out shoe polish...She snorted and grabbed my other shoe and pulled out a plastic bag full of long, shiny, metal knives. MY SILVERWARE how did that get there....THE SHOES WERE SUPPOSED TO BE IN the CHECKED LUGGAGE. eee gads she had me dead to rights...trying to smuggle the worlds dullest cutlerary onboard an aircraft on day before Friday the 13th. She threw my knives in the trash, but allowed me to keep my spoons (which were probably sharper than the knives), the forks (that in all honesty are more dangerous than the knives) and my can opener. I didn't care much about the spoons and forks as I figured I can pick those up in Korea...but apparently they haven't discovered the can opener yet... She scowled at me told me to get this packed up and out of here as I was holding up the line. I promptly obeyed before I became the victim of another...more personal...search.

As I waited for the plane...I kept going over how my suitcase got so heavy overnight...then it struck me...my dad crammed in my set dress shirts after I got done weighing my luggage the night before...

Other than that the rest of my journey was uneventful. I took off from SeaTac, spent 10 hours catching up with my friend Lori on the way into Toyko (or Narita if all you see is the airport) and I caught a connecting flight for a hop over the Sea of Japan and landed in Seoul (or Inchon if all you see is the airport)

And as for the picture...its and HSBC poster I saw on my layover in Narita (aka Tokyo airport) The sign he is holding up is for a "My Kobayashi" If that doesn't bring to mind the words "Keyser Söze" to your mind...you need to watch a movie called "The Usual Suspects"