Up close and personal.

What are you thankful for? (Korean adolescent edition)

Young Hoon

I asked my students to write 3 things they are thankful for and why. Here were some of their answers:

I'm thankful for my mom because her give me a money.

I'm thankful for teacher information give.

I'm thankful for my body.

I'm thankful for friend because they funny with we.

I'm thankful for parents because they always love me.

I'm thankful for my friend, Song Chang Won, is gave me a candy.

I'm thankful for the earth because it give all people food, drink, air and live.

I'm thankful for computer because it give funny.

I'm thankful for my friends because they are give me a food.

I'm thankful for my friends. They are very handsome.

I'm thankful for having parents.

I'm thankful for glasses because it is see.

I'm thankful for my parents. My love my parents. Very very thank you. 사랑해.

And then, my favorite, said by Young Hoon:

I'm thankful for my mom is many delicious pood cook and kind. (Actually spelled "pood.")



Awesome.

Tantrums and Temples and Totally Ignoring the Obvious.

Poker night yesterday. I lost big time. I lost my money and my ability to walk. Galloping down the stairs, I rolled my ankle heard a few pops. I’d done this before, but not for ten or so years. Ugh. It would be simpler if I didn’t have a job that required pacing around large rooms and stage acrobatics. But now I'm confined to my corner desk, yelling at kids from across the room, getting unwanted sympathy from strangers and doubling my travel-time to get anywhere. I know what you're thinking, "Wow, Andrew, you're life is so tough. What about all the AIDS babies in Africa or the single-mothers working 100-hour weeks to keep food on the table?" Okay, okay. You've pinned me down and slapped my senseless. I am a spoiled infant who didn't get his favorite kind of Gerber. Ignore my tantrum. Pop in your AIDS baby pacifier. I get it.

I went to Gyeongju last weekend and had a blast. Gyeongju is know as the "museum without walls" and I think it lived up to it's name. Museums are normally sardined with smelly tourists, right? I walked through fields of tombs from the old, dead kings of the Shilla dynasty (see right). I forget the dynasty order, but I'm pretty sure these guys are at least 800 years old. We also hit some temples. I think temples and gaudy Buddhas were the real reason I came to Korea. It's just something we don't see at home. Bulguksa (temple ["sa" is the Korean suffix for temple, so to avoid redundancy, I'll just use its Korean name.]) was a theme park. Theme park parking, lines at entrances, crying babies and theme park food and theme park trinkets. My travel buddy, Gray and I searched for ages to find a place to park and finally made our own un-demarcated parking space. We walked in and there was an old pagoda, some gold statues, but, being a temple tourism veteran, I didn't see anything more than typical temple fare. Underwhelmed, we drove through the mountains to the next temple about 30 miles away.


Golgulsa is an operational temple, rather than a theme park, with monks who have a martial arts compound and temple stayers/tourists who want to dip their pinky toe into enlightenment. This temple was a build out of caves and was over 1500 years old. Having a standing temple that old is truly significant in Korea; the Japanese burned down most of the historical sites during their long occupations here. Most temples (like Bulguksa) were burned down and reconstructed as recently as the 1990's. Anyway, the temple was stunning and its entirety was literally carved out of the side of a mountain. (The Buddha to the left is at the top of the mountain and was carved in 500(?) A.D.) Gray and I walked up steep cliffs and sometimes climbed to see little shrines cut out of the face of the stone mountain. During fall, the views were breathtaking. The leaves were starting to change and, growing up in San Diego, I had never seen anything like that before.That night, we drank with these guys from Paris who were studying for their MBAs at a university in Seoul. We had a great time and jawed about off-color topics with off-color humor for hours on end. This is the virtue of living abroad: Everyone's from somewhere else and you never know what you might learn. I learned that the French can be down-to-earth and amicable. I also learned that I have a place to stay in Paris when I visit in a few months. The power of Facebook.

It's been a fun couple of weeks. But, I'm just highlighting the highlights and obscuring the lowlights. I plan on traveling more when my ankle heals up. You'll hear more from me then. Cheers.

I went paragliding this weekend. Here's a video.

Mmmhmm.

If we've learned anything, I think we've learned that I suck at correspondence. I heard this joke the other day about a blogger who rarely blogs and finally, when he does blog, it's only to apologize for not blogging more. I am this man. Stone me.

Things have been really placid recently. I feel like I just found my rhythm living in Korea. I'm content with staying at home, doing homey things. I don't need to be occupying my thoughts with my next weekend trip to remain happy. I think Myonghwa plays a significant role here. Also, NFL Gamepass plays a significant role here, along with online poker (Reader's note: There is no real money involved.) and bad Korean dramas. I've become content, or maybe complacent, with staying in my little town, spending time with Myonghwa and living in cyberspace. This hibernation sounds like a bout of depression or laziness, and I might grant you the latter, but I actually just feel at home in Boryeong now. I feel excited to excited to come home after a trip and I feel excited to stay at home on the weekends. I feel at ease in my apartment, safe within it's concrete womb. I borrowed this from Paul Simon.

Yesterday, I went to Myonghwa's town, Jupo, and was shocked to see an old school house that was erected in 1715. It had the typical traditional Korean architecture and paint designs and it was literally a stone's throw from Myonghwa's house. She used to walk by a building 300 years old everyday on her way to school. And this is a young building, by Korean standards. She suspected that her town had been around since about 1000 AD. Then, in front of her old middle school, we walked by a pagoda (that had been transported there) from about 500 AD. These are things that seem insignificant and normal to her. My neighborhood was built in 1969.

I can't believe I didn't post this before.

If you want a shockingly accurate depiction of the life of a foreign English teacher in Korea, this video is spot on.



Enjoy.

"I feel more like a stranger each time I come home."

This is going to sound hackneyed (But, a wise man once told me that the things that are most cliche are the most true--this is why they're cliche.): Now, I have two homes, but no place feels like home. I stayed up nights thinking about San Diego--my friends, my family, the weather, the food--and when I finally arrived, I felt weird; I felt foreign. I suppose everything was just as I'd left it, but it didn't feel normal anymore. Coming from a lifestyle riddled with confusion, certainty was a bit unsettling. But it did have its perks. I could customize food orders. I could read road signs and be certain if the people behind me were actually mocking me. I felt stretched thin at every social event. All my friends wanted to know the same questions: "How's Korea?" or "Hey, how's Korea treating you?" and even, "Hey man, how are you liking Korea?" My answers mustn't have been zany enough to remember. I love most of my friends. I shouldn't be complaining, really.

Part of me thinks I should consult my sister before doing this, but it's three in the morning on the West Coast, so I'll take the low road. I went home to the States mainly for my sister's wedding. You see, a lot of people were counting on me to give a brilliant speech and I didn't have anything else going on that particular weekend. Brilliance may not be accurate, but I delivered my best:

August 14, 2009
Brother of the Bride Speech Manuscript

Good Evening.

My name is Andrew and I’m the younger brother of the bride.

This speech is called: “What you can write on your flight to Sacramento the day before your sister’s wedding. Just kidding. Haha. No, but seriously.”

I’ve known my sister for as long as I can remember. Rumor has it she used to stand above my crib and sing lullabies to me and say, “Hello, little brother. I can’t wait to talk to you.” She would say progressively less cute things to me as we grew into our teenage years. She was born with a full head of hair—a halo of sorts—and by the age of two was having full on conversations with strangers in hotel lobbies. Again, this is what I’ve been told about my sister. I’ve been told that she is a great student and a loving girlfriend.

What I know about my sister is she has always been a great example for me…of what not to do. Take up a musical instrument? Not doing that. Join the marching band? Not doing that either. Go to UCSD? Naaaah. Become a social science major? Heck no! Watch countless hours of bad reality TV to escape my mind numbing everyday? Okay, we both do that. In fact, I’m coming clean. I’ve pretty much replicated my sister’s exact footsteps until she went to law school and I decided to move to Korea.

There’s this Korean proverb that says, “A matchmaker who makes a bad match deserves a slap in the face.” Fortunately for them this thing worked out, or Johno would have to go shopping for a new computer monitor.

In preparation for this speech, I kept on being haunted by this lurking question. One that I thought I should address. And that is, “What is love?” Not the Haddaway song. But real love. So, after many fruitless hours of pondering, I decided to do what any bright, resourceful person would do: I asked Ask.com—of course the ultimate authority on all matters of the heart. I typed in the keyword “love,” pressed Enter and accepted the top search result as absolute Bible. And surprisingly enough, I thought I got a pretty insightful breakdown of it. Thanks Ask.com. This is what “SelfCreation.com” had to say about love.

Basic Components of Love

Love is Accepting.

Acceptance is labeling someone as "okay" and having no particular desire to change them. Who they are is perfectly fine with you. You pose no condition on whether you will love them or not. This is called unconditional love. When your love IS conditional, the moment they step outside your set of conditions, love evaporates.

Love is Appreciating.

Appreciation is one step beyond acceptance. It’s when your focus is on what you like about another. We look at them and feel this sweeping appreciation for who they are, their joy, their insights, their humor, their companionship, etc. When someone says they are "in love" with another, they mean their appreciation is so enormous for this person that it consumes their every thought.

Love is Wanting Another to Feel Good.

We want those we love to be happy, safe, healthy, and fulfilled. We want them to feel good in all ways, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Myself, I know nothing about what makes a marriage work or last or how to make the perfect tuna casserole. So, I can only rely on what I read on the Internet or hear in silly emo songs. But I can tell you what I do know. This was written by a close friend of mine and I thought I’d share it with you:

Love is real

It is not just in novels or the movies

It is fact

And it is standing here right in front of you

So if you open your eyes

Oh what a sweet discovery

There is hope, and there is joy, and there is acceptance.

Love is real

It is not just in long distance commercials

Or something that you thought you felt back in high school

Love is real

It is not just in poetry and stories

It is truth, and it will follow you

Everywhere you go from now on

So if you'd just cast off your doubt

Then your lips would answer for you

Oh my darling, when you smile, it is like a song

And I can hear it now.

I can hear it now. -CO


So, all things considered, going home was almost dreamlike. It was strange to be suddenly in the presence of everything I had missed for 8 months - my friends, my family, Mexican food, English. But despite these familiar comforts, I felt like I was missing my other home the entire time. I missed the children waving "hi" to me in the street on my way to work. I missed the green of the rice fields. I missed having a secret language that only my friends and I could understand. I missed my students. I missed sitting home alone in the quiet of my apartment. I loved being home, but leaving Korea made me realize that I only had a few more precious months left, before I'm back to everything I understand. Everything I've already processed. Every flavor I've already tasted. I realized that my time in Korea is invaluable and I shouldn't squander it by wishing I was somewhere else. I am where I am and I need to live where I stand.

It's Tuesday and I have the entire day off.

Well, sort of. I still have to waste away in front of a computer screen for 8 straight hours. I can feel the energy leak from my fingertips, down my keyboard and die a slow, painful death on the floor beneath my desk. It's exam time and I'm staring listlessly at a blue and white horizon that will every once in a while dazzle me with something gossipy. I am a middle-aged, middle-American, middle-class woman who lives vicariously through cheesy TV romance and talks about K-Pop and the Hills with friends over dinner. What the hell have I become?! An illiterate jackass who revels in other people's drama, while too dumb or skittish to face my own? This is a silly existence. Waiting to breathe, waiting for friends, waiting for phone calls, waiting for afternoon trysts, waiting for paperwork, waiting for fucking anything. Anything but this.

"I see no difference between romance and solitude." -CK

On a manlier note, I'm eagerly awaiting football season to start again. I've been spending a lot of my idle thoughts on how the Giants are going to be this year. It seems like so much has changed; the roster looks completely different and a hell of a lot younger. Burress, gone. Toomer, gone. R. W. McQuarters, gone. Ward, Gone. Our new draft picks look promising, but then again, all of them do during training camp. Our secondary really has something to prove along with our wide-outs. We'll see how preseason looks.

Sometimes I forget that I speak English. This might be because this ability atrophies more and more the less and less I use it. It's always really gratifying when I can sit next to another English teacher at lunch time and rattle off all the things I did during the weekend so effortlessly to remind my Korean teachers that I am capable of producing sentences with more than three words in them--sort of like this one--that I am capable of having an intelligent conversation and that I have thoughts and emotions that cannot be sufficed with: "How are you?" "I'm fine, thank you. And you?" This was one of the great things about my dad coming down. Being able to speak with him at a comfortable meter, with a comfortable vocabulary, with familiar conversation topics. Talking about streets and businesses back home. Talking about football. Talking about family members and other relevant things to my life. Because of teaching EFL, I don't theoretically know two languages, but in practice I do: simple English (mainly consisting of simple vocabulary, sentence fragments and buzzwording) and conversational English (similar to this).

For example, yesterday in class, we watched a few music videos, Michael Jackson's "Bad" and Weird Al Yankovic's "Fat." I asked them to think about the similarities and differences in the two videos. I explained what a parody was by saying, "This video makes that video a joke." Of course, in concert with lots of gesturing. There's a Korean cognate for the English word "same" which is "same same." I initially said, while making eye-contact with the Korean English teacher as to prompt subsequent translation, "I want you to think about the similarities and differences between these two videos." (It was probably phrased simpler than this, but this is the gist of what I said.) And then, after a moment of silence, I said, "Ms. ____, could you help me explain this?" Blank response. So I eventually said exactly this, with gestures: "Think...(points)...ego, ego ('this, this' in Korean)...same same and not same same." Finally, after that explanation, the teacher and the students simultaneously knew what I want asking. Utterly exhausting. But, this is the language I use in class, otherwise, the students don't understand, lose interest and start talking. Then, I yell, "jo yong hi hae" (Korean for "stop talking") and slam a bamboo on the desk and the cycle repeats itself. The consensus among foreign teachers is that I work at the roughest school in the city and sadly, I believe it. There are no guns or knives, but frequently there are fights and the boys are almost completely apathetic to anything I have to say. But frankly, I don't blame them. They go to school from 8am-10pm, recessing only for meals and they receive no grade in my class and are tested on none of its contents. I would sleep and goof off too if I were under the same conditions.

On a brighter note, like I mentioned before, my dad came to visit me for the past week and a half. It was great to see family after a seven-month drought and be had a really good time. My plan was to take him all over the country, and I sort of succeeded, but my itinerary was undermined by the elements. It rain for the last four days or so that he was here. This was no light drizzle. I've never seen cats or dogs this big. We went to Busan (which is on the southeast side of the country and I affectionately liken it to San Francisco), spent about $70 roundtrip for transport, arrived the first night without a hitch and the next morning were greeted with copious gallons of rain. Maybe a torrent would be more succinct and accurate. My umbrella inverted and broke and I slipped and fell four times. This, however, is not a point of shame because my dad fell once. After a 45 minute cab ride, we made it to this temple on the beach, which even with the rain was absolutely gorgeous. I slipped twice there. I blame my shoes. But the rest of my dad's visit was great. We hiked up a mountain near my house; we went to the beach and the annual Mud Festival in my town; he met my girlfriend; I introduced him to all kinds of interesting foods (including bbanddaegi which are essentially fried silk worm larvae). We had a great time and I have no complaints. I'll add pictures to this when I get home. Cheers.

Nostalgia--accompanied by heated, pointless political discussions (especially ones that end inevitably with a disingenuous "agree to disagree"), gory slasher flicks, the emotions of someone I have ceased to love, a room full of chatty strangers, cult leaders, the two-party "my team is better than your team" system, realizing the person you've devoted your life to pleasing no longer loves you, and divisive belief systems--makes me nauseous. I've never been able to look at a picture that's more than 3 years old without feeling the bile wrench in my stomach, without feeling the taste of my previous meal paired with the taste of acid and self-loathing congregate on my tongue as to say, "What the hell happened, shortstack? You used to have the world by the balls."

Caught in my day-to-day. Eight to five. Eight to five. Someday, I'll know a life without chains and due dates and puppies nibbling at my ankles. The school year has picked up and I can't seem to put it down long enough to sit back in an easy chair and pound out this account. I find it much harder to reflect and rereflect when I'm busy and happy.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, it’s nice to be outside. The snow melted ages ago and I’m reaching for a cool glass of lemonade, sitting on my patio. Make that Pepsi. I wanted a burger this afternoon—on account of the fact that I’ve been saving myself, caloricly speaking, for the weekend. I walked to thirty minutes to the closest McDonalds rip-off (Lotteria) and found that the Boryeong oasis of Westernism had been torn to bits by a future enterpriser. I assume this is because it hadn’t been doing a lot of business, which baffles me because every time I walked into the place, I was stocked full of high school girls buying ice creams and soda pops and giggling about boys. And given that this is an embodied perspective, the main giggling was in response to me. I’ve had worse problems. So now, I sit here at a pizza joint a block away from the ghost of euphoria and stare at its dead, rotting carcass, thinking of all the memories we shared.

I would find out later that this was merely a renovation. The oasis is intact and better than ever. Time for pictures. Baby Buddha, the water salesman. Myonghwa and I went to this art exhibit in Insadong (the art epicenter of Seoul).

Hey, Readership.

I am happy. I feel like a bad Madonna song without all of the sexual overtures. All the pieces of my life are falling into place. I like traveling Korea, but I don't feel like I need it to say sane anymore. South Korea feels like home to me now. Not home home, but home. Since last I blogged, I've met some great people, but haven't experienced anything overtly extraordinary. I went to Seoul last weekend with a good friend and saw a Korean rock band that sang songs by Skynard and Elvis. We danced and laughed and drank in the street, thinking about nothing but our present elation and the feeling of communitas. This was the best night I've had in Korea so far.

A student of mine drafted a comic strip in which I, Andrew the superhero, killed and ate Satan. I am win.

This is going to be mainly a picture blog. I'll let them fill you in.

On the Road with Screaming, Unruly, Middle School Girls.

I wrote this blog a while back. I was on a train home from Seoul and I decided that vehicles in motion are the keenest places for inspiration. Springsteen talks a lot about the open road, or so I've heard from a friend who shares my name and wrote his Master's thesis on this motif. The passersby marveled at me, typing furiously in a language they couldn't understand. Unfortunately, I only had a New York minute before my time expired and without a word, the screen went black. Worse things have happened; I wasn't too hurt over it. My main concern, actually, was for my antsy readership. This sounds pompous, but I've gotten a few nasty emails nagging me for more output. I have a responsibility to the troops back home and I shouldn't let them down. Sorry, troops. I'll be home in August.

I've been on the road for almost two solid months. Kind of. I fit work in wherever I can, but it's more of a burden than a passion at this point. Well, until about three days ago, that is. I had an awakening of sorts on Tuesday. No glowing angels. No pervasive sun beams penetrating my third eye, but just an active decision to shed my woes and press forward. These aforementioned woes are mainly responsible my blogging lapse. I'd prefer to not go into it. I'd like not to immortalize my follies in prose. Too many people are watching. I've toured everywhere from Seoul to Busan (sea to shining sea, if you will, for you American types). I should accompany this post with photos of my travels, but some things take too much effort. Let's kick this old school.

One thing worth mentioning is this bookstore I found in Seoul. Let me back up for a second. After about a month and a half of the road, I was haggard and weary and ready for a break. I met this guy at Native Teachers' Orientation (which really isn't newsworthy on its own, but it's aiding this story) who had been in the country for as long as I had and I hadn't really met any foreigners thus far. It was his birthday last weekend and I decided to show him a good time in Seoul. We went to the foreigner Promised Land, Itaewon, which--legend has it--is controlled by the Russian mob and is sort of a seedy place to be on a Saturday night. It was a Saturday night and I was looking to test my luck. Andrew, 1. Unfortunate happenstance, 0. We hit the street after a grueling bus ride and a 30 minute, standing-room-only subway trip. Fair enough. I had had a long week at the office and didn't really have the time or energy to research reputable hotels. We (and by we, I mean me--He left our travel plans to my whims and incidentally, things turned out okay.) checked in to the local bathhouse for a one night stay in the dingy underbelly of Seoul. Wait, I got off-topic. I was talking about a bookstore. Whatever, this might be more riveting. We pet some deer in Seoul Forest (which translates to Seoul Soop: I found this funny.) and we saw a Buddhist temple that was advertised as one hundred percent gold, but once we arrived and saw the gold leaf flaking off of the pine columns, we thought differently. To keep the integrity of this paragraph- There is a bookstore in the COEX mall, which is this gargantuan underground shopping center, that has a slough of English books and I bought "The Omnivore's Dilemma." I had wanted to read it for a while and it was a worthy excuse to blow some Won. I have no regrets.

I am a full blown superhero. I started working at the local girls middle school and whenever I walk into a room, I hear the screech of female preteens. Really; it's deafening. Maybe I'm more of a rockstar. Yeah, that might be more accurate, given that I don't possess any supernatural powers or latently placed pyrotechnics. A swarm of fans shadow me down the hallways, beseeching high fives, my name, my age, and shockingly, my bloodtype. This is a big deal in Korea. Bloodtypes. Who knew?

I found a place that sells Cuban cigars. Thumbs way up. For interested parties: I got a Romeo y Julieta Churchill, a Cohiba Siglo II, and a Punch Petit Coronation. A starter kit, at best.

I'm signing off for now. I'll try to keep these more frequent.

Footnote: I just found my lost blog and perhaps this would have made for a better intro. There are some redundancies here, so look past them and enjoy the train:

"My negligence is inexcusable. I've been away from this keyboard for nearly three weeks now, but I can't say that it was because I didn't have time and I can't say that it was because I had nothing to write about. I've been on the road. I've been out in the God's grey, concrete wilderness and I've drank the local drink, danced to the local beat, and arrived in a constant state of departure. This was my charge over the past month: Travel, Travel, Travel until the blisters on my feet begin to bleed. I'm weary as hell; so, I suppose my goal was realized. I have a headache the size of Montana and my head is all battered with mental images of friends and temples and bathhouses and hustled city folk. It really wouldn't make for a good read if I recounted every mishap and spectacle of my time away, but I'll do my best to humor you with a few.

I'll start with the most recent and relevant event. I'm pounding out this letter from a moving train on its way home from Seoul. See, I took this bloke Jerry (whom I met at orientation, which by the way, was a colossal waste of time) out for his birthday, on account of the fact that this would be his first birthday alone. I was happy to do it and it gave me an excuse to go back up to Seoul. We stayed in Itaewon (the foreigner district), ate steak at Outback Steakhouse, spent the night a jimjalbang (bathhouse [It isn't as creepy as it seems.]) and toured Seoul Forest and a Buddhist temple made of a hundred percent gold. Opulence. I realized later that this was my first proper steak in a good six to seven years. I didn't dwell on it; I didn't want to think about the life I'd took. Bless my bleeding heart. I also found a proper pub--you know, the kind where you can play pool, darts, drink Guinness from the tap and meet your mates after a rough week in your little cardboard prison to remember that you still are human and that there is some animal left in your cardboard cut out body."

That's as far as I got.

Japan. A rundown. An exhaustive rundown.

I woke up at 4:30pm today. Not my proudest moment, but a month long vacation is a marathon, not a sprint. I’ve been staying up late watching the History channel—they’ve been airing this series on aerial combat and ironically, I am enamored with it. I never gave a toss about planes until that British narrator’s voice came on the tele. Top Gun helped.

About a week ago, I took a tour through Japan. I left the airport with foreign air in my lungs and a few hours of sleep under my belt. This was not the time for acclamation. This was the time for fatigue, dizziness, and disorientation. After a slept a bit at my capsule hotel—a hotel in which you basically sleep in a glorified coffin and stow all your belongings in a dwarfed locker—I felt significantly better. I aimlessly sauntered around Osaka taking photographs of shiny things and pretty landscapes. I could feel the change of tides from my wearied entrance to this pleasant rebirth. With love in my heart and a tummy full of McDonalds, I owned that city (or at least the Namba side of town) and it’s inhabitants. This can’t be proven. I feel asleep an invigorated man. I woke up groggy and was greeted with the capsule hotel’s continental: one hard-boiled egg, one piece of toast and a bottomless cup of coffee. I have to say I’ve been better accommodated, but for 22 quid, I wasn’t complaining. I hopped a train to Kyoto soon after. Carlo Marx would be waiting for me in Denver.

About an hour later, I arrive in Kyoto. There’s a big tower, a Starbucks, a post office, a few mom and pops, and a few run of the mill tourist traps. I thought Kyoto was supposed to be this cultural colossus; I thought I was going to be bulldozed over with theme park-like castles and temples and Japanesy things. So, where’s the Kobe beef?! (This was a cheap shot, but I had to take it. Sorry, folks.) After turning a few corners and asking a few questions, I found a sweet temple. I toured. I photographed. I closed my eyes and waited for God. Nothing. Maybe that was my answer. Something about interconnectedness and nothingness. Wait, it’ll come to me. I swear it was in this book somewhere. If I could just….Whelp, there it went.

“I need some meaning I can memorize. I have a hunger and I can’t seem to get full.” -CO

I retreated from my retreat from goyem and fed my habit. Starbucks tastes better in places where it shouldn’t be. Seattle has no place in Japan, I’m sorry. That iconic Space Needle is far too robust for a Japanese skyline. I sat at one of the cookie-cutter tables and wrote the blog prior. A few moments later, Brynn appeared and found a hostel. One thing I noticed about Japan that is radically different from Korea is the service industry: People are just so freaking nice in Japan. We walked up to one of the big hotels and asked for directions to a nearby hostel. The woman behind the counter spoke bees-knees English, printed out a map and told us detailed directions on how to get there. We found the hostel eventually took off our shoes and ascended the five flights of stairs to our room. I plopped my bag on one of the vacant top bunks and secured our belongings in an even smaller locker. We walked for miles and miles, jacketless, in the pouring rain. Why bring a coat when its so nice outside? Soaked and surly, we made our way back to guesthouse a few hours later. Like seven hours later, actually. I forgot to mention, on our tour we saw a geisha in training (which looked to me like a geisha proper, but I was later corrected) walking through the streets of Kyoto, in and around the former geisha district. With nothing better or more pressing to do, we were her shadows for about the next kilometer. Don’t judge us; we were wide-eyed tourists; you would have done the same thing in our soggy shoes. We got back and my backpack and coat were sitting in the corner of the room. Their rightful home was sacked by a MacBook Pro and some other luggage. Not to bitch and moan, but The Nerve of these people! I about sh*t kittens. I should quote a relevant Jay-Z sound byte, but he takes some nomenclatural liberties that I’d prefer to steer clear of.

Given that this was going to be a day trip for both of us, neither Brynn nor I had a change of clothes. And we were soaked. Drenched. That said, she snagged an extra sweater and a clean pair of boxers from my bag and I did the same while our clothes cycled for a costly 4 hours in the drier. Money is money, whatever, but it was the 4 hours post-midnight hours spent with drunk 19-year-old Aussie know-it-alls that was true expensive. And I’m not talking ‘bout money. Conversation went from deluded to more deluded as the early morning wore on—mainly it wore on my patience. Brynn and I broadcasted dumb smiles and feigned interest in misled conversations about gov’t and politiks. All the while I kept thinking how young they were and sounded, with an afterthought of: “That used to be me 4 years ago.” This humbling thought made their diatribes no less obnoxious. Oh, and back to that change of clothes: I was actually only wearing my peacoat and boxers, because I didn’t have a sweater. This must have been amusing to the dolled up Aussies and their Austrian friends. I didn’t ask. I didn’t care.

We toured a temple or two the next day, but didn’t want to tire out our legs before our big day of cross-country skiing. This turned out not to turn out. The snow was too shallow; we opted for cross-country snowshoeing. Now, I’ve heard conflicting reports about snowshoeing. Somes say it’s a scream. Somes say it’s waste of time. After this experience, I’m in the latter camp. It might not have helped that we were snowshoeing over a flat dinosaur park parking lot. The dinos didn’t disappoint, but I can’t say the same for the slopes. I may not be getting my chronology right, but I think later that day, we karaoked Brynn’s boyfriend’s favorite bar and took home the trophy. There was no trophy. We sang some Ben Folds and S & G tunes. We harmonized. We took turns singing flourishes. We embarrassed ourselves. It wasn’t the first time; it won’t be the last. I hope not, anyway.

The next night, Chris (Brynn’s boyfriend), Brynn and I went to a Super Bowl party. Spoiler alert: Pittsburgh won. Chris and Brynn had work all day, so I wandered around downtown Fukui during the day and rendezvoused with them at night. More McDonalds. Lots of coffee and Skyping. My peeps were grateful. The next morning, I would go to Kansai airport to waste away on oversized meals and free drinks in business class. Again. A woman would take my coat and I would get a window seat. Whiskey rocks, please.

Japan at First Glance.

Run. Jump. Skip. Hop. Roll over. Dodge! Think. Swim. Fly. Fight. Pan-Asianism: Myth. You read one book of Asian cultural mores; you think you’ve read them all. But you’re dead wrong, man. You’re dead wrong. A stone’s throw away is a different country—a different people. You do your part. You watch the instructional Youtube videos to learn the basics. This is easy, man. You’re dead wrong. You take the morning train to Incheon, collar raised, chin high, lips tight. You arrive at the airport with limited sleep and tired eyes. Jump through the hoop. Sit! You present your US passport to a smiling woman who smilingly tells you that you need to consult Immigration. You don’t have the right paperwork. Oh my God, I hope the straight-laced folks at Immigration know a lick of English, you think. You arrive. They don’t. You gesture with your stupid presumptuous American smile. You hand her your passport and pray to God that she can help. Meanwhile, you did your homework. You clicked and typed out all of the right forms. You dotted all of your digital i’s and crossed all of your digital t’s. She looks unenthused. This isn’t working, you think. Eventually, with absent eye-contact, she hands you your validated passport. The next number is called.

This could have happened.

After some immigration hogwash, I walked to my gate, phoned an adieu to a friend or two, and hopped onto the plane to Osaka. Wait, hold on, back to the smiling woman behind the Japan Air counter: Economy class was full; I was now was an honorary suit in business class. Anyway, the plane lands. I miss my train to Namba (a hip part of Osaka, but Osaka is so gigantic that it takes an hour by train to get anywhere). A kind Japanese local helps me navigate my alternate route. I’m running on five hours of sleep and that’s being generous. I get to Namba station and am completely disoriented. This isn’t Korea. You can smell it; you can see it; you can sense it. I am reminded of the huge cleavage between the first and second world. Literally, there are girly mags everywhere here. I have reached Gomorrah. Well, this isn’t exactly true. I did go to a few temples while here. And although I have to give a shout out to Korea for friendliness, Japan takes the architectural cake. The temples in Kyoto are gorgeous. Whelp, Brynn just walked up, I gotta go. Next time I post pictures.

I'm changing all my strings; I'm gonna write another Travelin' Song.

Things are looking up. A few snags here and there, but I keep my chin up and push through my heartaches and headaches. I’m sitting in a coffee shop in the Daecheon bus terminal. This weekend I went to Daejeon (the capital city of my province) with an affectionate friend. She shopped for her father’s birthday present and I drank copious quantities of coffee and tried to rationalize my caffeine dependency. There are worse vices, but apparently warming your neck three times a day with searing battery acid is not everybody’s idea of a good time. Something about a woman’s scorn. Whatever.

I think my package from Mum is in the air by now. The young man goes leaves his friends and family to discover something new and uncharted. His hasty search leaves him weary-eyed and heavy-hearted, after forgetting his name and burying his books. The young man sends a letter to old friends begging them to forgive his cultural betrayal, but they turn their heads and raise their noses in disgust. But Mum was still there. Mum sent coffee, cheese and bread pudding. Mum loved her little boy. Mum sacrificed life and limb to keep his tummy full and his feet pointed in the direction they should go. Mum showed photos to family and friends praising the life she had made. Others pointed and interrogated the photos of the soldier of linguistic imperialism, but Mum just smiled and prayed and shrugged off the young man’s shortcomings and celebrated his triumphs. I love you, Mom.

Daejeon reminded me a lot of LA. Bright lights. Big city. Houses of ill-repute. Queer smiles, fake friends and sensationalized portrayals of women splattered across merchant walls. If it weren’t for the sub-zero temps and four inches of snow, I think it would have been a magnificent place to be this weekend. Thank God for the internets. I watch the Real World and The Office every week and this keeps me grounded. I don’t have enough drama or awkwardness in my life so I choose to outsource it. Sweet. I may not know what’s going to happen in the feud between Chet and JD or in Angela’s (fictional character, mind you) twisted relationship with Dwight, but for those 20-45 minutes I am concerned about something else besides which sam-gyup-sal (it’s a certain cut of pork) restaurant I’m going to eat at. For those 20-45 minutes I get to partake in a kind of internationally endorsed voyeurism that’s hard to come by through most other media.

Different subject. There’s this song called “Pretty Girl” that just came on the radio that is freaking hilarious. Not only does it exemplify the feminine ideal in this country, it is so absurdly blatant about that portrayal that at first I couldn’t discern whether or not the lyrics were just inane or some kind of satirical feminist commentary.

Either way, it is freaking amazing.

My bus leaves in a few, so next week: same time, same place, yeah?

News Flash: Andrew is susceptible to bad British accents.

I've been out a few nights with this bloke called Tim. He's from Southwest Britain. Normally, I keep my American posture--tie lynching my neck, proper and boring with the occasional regional give-away, "Dude"--but after a few pints of awful awful Korean beer, I find myself swimming in organic Britishisms. Saying "yeah?" after every other sentence, affirmative "right, rights," a few I can't mention, and I even uttered "bloody hell" and "blimey" at one point. The grandest part of this seemingly contrived dialect shift: Most of the time, it goes absolutely unnoticed. I'm a passing Brit. We chastise Tony Blair and toast to the queen and nobody bats an eye. This may be because others do not differentiate us in this country, so we now lack the ability or desire to differentiate ourselves. I suppose my understanding of my identity completely relies on context. Further proving that an innate, unique self doesn't exist. I don't exist. But I graduated college a while ago, so I really don't need to discuss this.

The other night I was at Vitamin's apartment, spending the evening with he and his family. And while his wife and two daughters slaved over a hot stove and a cutting board, the men of the house sat on the couch, complacent and aloof, watching the soccer game. The men of the house couldn't be bothered with woman's work, after all, Beckham was on. The men of the house didn't lift a finger; that would threaten their masculinity. God forbid. I tried to walk over and help at one point, but was asked to stay and watch the game. The gender divide was apparent. The work delegated. I shouldn't rock the boat. I should just sit back in front of the television like a toothless blockhead and ignore patriarchal oppression, ignore inequality, ignore blaring double-standards. Put away your soap-box, Drew. This isn't the time. All those texts you read about gender politics and feminism need not apply here. They are loftly Americanisms. You shouldn't rock the boat. Yeah, you needn't the boat.

Moving on, dinner was delicious. I'm glad I didn't meddle and mess it up. We had kimbop, which is like a sushi roll with pork, cheese, radish, and egg wrapped in rice and seaweed. As for the photograph, my co-teacher didn't use flash for any of the pictures that night inside his apartment, so this was the least blurry of the lot. Keep in mind, the previous discussion is just a cultural thing that sort of gets under my skin. In no way is it a reflection on the character of my co-teacher.

I'm at Will's this weekend in Seosan, I'm looking forward to it. It's still snowing like the dickens, but that won't stop this group from having a good time. Whelp, I'm about to hit the streets. We'll meet back her in about a week. Ciao.

Eh.

This post may be more introspective than most, but I've been spending quite a bit of time inside so I suppose my explorations will follow suit. I find that I rarely think I am ready to experience things or take on new roles until I'm actually doing them. A sort of self-propelled trial by fire. I almost have to approach situations with my eyes closed and dukes up in order to avoid complacent idleness. I could surmise where this comes from, but that would be a colossal waste of time. Anyway, I was thinking about my impending Japan trip: how I'm going to a different country that I know virtually know nothing about (anything practical) and how I came half way across the world to pursue a profession that I had little experience (although I certainly do now) and how I'm planning on traveling Europe post-haste after my contract is finished. But the funny thing is, with all of these uncharted experiences and responsibilities, none of this scares me. Well...perhaps a little, but not merely as much as it should--not nearly as much as it scares the people around me out of empathy. This is sort of ill-conceived, overzealous, blind barreling routine will probably fail me eventually, but as for now, it ain't broke.

As for my town, it has been a little over a month and honestly, I'm sort of bored with the place. It isn't that I hate it; I've just run out of ostensible things to do. The bars here are rubbish, but then again, I never really was much for bars. The pool halls are filled with smoke, middle-aged men and teenagers. All of them burning holes through my white mug and quietly muttering to themselves, "What is he doing here? Contractor or English teacher. Yeah. English teacher. He's too young to make that kinda money. His face is too affable for a hard-nosed German businessman." Believe me. This sort of thought process is more than speculative. This came straight from the mouths of babes--nay--brats.

Recently, my schedule has lightened up. School ended on Wednesday, so I only have to teach the kids who actually want to be there. Excellent. Out of a school of 1,200+ kids, only about 20 signed up. Divided into 6 classes a day by 2 teachers. I teach from 12:10pm to 3pm everyday and it is absolutely brilliant. Added bonus- the classes are strictly conversational and we talk about whatever the 3 boys in each class want to talk about. No lesson planning. No curriculum. No Powerpoint presentations. Just extemporaneous conversation and Youtube. Ah, the internet. How you have made us all immeasurably lazy, yet interconnected. You have taken the nerves out of dating, the planning out of lesson planning, and the unprofessional professional look professional. I'm also being paid extra for doing these classes because they are supplemental (yet, required for me to teach) and not part of the regular school year.

I will be going to Seosan tomorrow probably and I'll update you more after the weekend. Goodnight and good riddance.

Sick. "I fight like hell to hide that I've given up. Woo!"

My lingering cold will not die for the life of me. It seems that just as soon as I think it’s on the way out, it lurks around the corner and waits to capitalize on my obliviousness. I'll admit that much of this is self-induced (forgetting to sleep enough and staying out in the snow for too long), but this menace has taken center stage in my life recently and refuses to mind the curtain. It has even curtailed my social life a bit. I was supposed to celebrate New Years with the Seosanians, but instead I stayed home and slept. Likewise, I was supposed to go to Busan this weekend (a coastal city on the Southeast corner) but decided that I didn't want to further my sickness.

In other news, I booked my ticket for Osaka to see my friend, Brynn. Nothing funny. Her boyfriend lives a stone's throw away. Originally, I had planned to go to Tokyo while in Japan, but decided against it because for a few reasons, the primary being cost. Actually- the others are worth mentioning: She referred me to a few websites for lodging and train times, but the whole thing looked pretty overwhelming. I saw an imbalance between the amount of time and money I would spent planning a trip to Tokyo and the amount of things I would actually want to do and see there. The resource expenditure/fun ratio didn't really leave me satisfied. Also, as humbling as this is, I'm sort of a novice world traveler; so the idea of getting on a night bus for 8 hours to a city I've never been to, in a country where I don't speak the language to find some remote hostel was sort of unsettling. Yeah, it’s an adventure, but I'm taking baby steps. (Note: I wrote the past two paragraphs after watching hours of British comedy. Two things: (a) This is explains why I have the voice of a pretentious jackass and (b) it’s important that you read this passage with a thick British accent. Like, don’t even be apologetic about it. Thick British accent.)

I’ve been watching a lot of British comedy recently. Since my foreigner status deemed me unsubscribable to the tele service, DVDs are about all I have at this point. I was livid about the blatant foreigner discrimination, but I guess every nation needs to have a proverbial dog to kick. Better make it a minority. Anyway, it took me a while to warm up to it, but British comedy is some of the cleverest, most outlandish, uncomfortable filth I’ve ever witnessed. A fellow English teacher loaned them to me, a bloke by the name of Andy. Yes, in a school virtually devoid of any English names, we are blessed with an Andrew and an Andy. I was surprised at how quickly the kids caught on. Maybe it’s because his name is Andy and mine is Andur-rew.

So, my week and weekend were pretty uneventful due to my viral nemesis. I’ll be checking in soon.