I went with a friend recently to an Ediya Coffee shop near Chonnam University, and stood in awe at this fragmented run-on sentence proudly mounted on the wall. It even had its own floodlight illuminating the butchery of my dear, sweet language.

But rather than shirk away from it like a leper seeking my touch, I chose to sit directly under its gaze. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

One need not look long nor hard to find English, the world’s most butchered language, hung from the four corners of the Earth like rotting carcasses. South Korea provides ample victual for grammar prudes to wave their castigating fingers and shake their heads. Here are some of the things I’ve been wagging my finger at lately:

Burial mounds like these are everywhere in Korea. They can be seen from freeways, in sundry public parks and most frequently in bucolic settings on the outskirts of major cities. Though they are somber monuments, they are usually impeccably manicured and thus never an eyesore.

It’s easy to overlook the genius behind this syncretism of pizza and cup. Upon first glance, it seems like either a waste of a good cup, or a perversion of sliced pizza’s intended form. But there’s one element that can turn this ad hoc serving style into pure genius: Children---lots and lots of children.

Makkoli, Korea's autochthonous rice wine, is becoming an increasingly popular alcoholic beverage here on the lower part of the peninsula. Originally the preferred drink among farmers, makkoli's popularity has been spreading well beyond its base and even to foreigners like me.