Jess's Blog - Now w/ Pictures!

Now that I finally have the internet readily at my fingertips whenever I want it, I found the time to play around with some of the fuctions on my blog, and I added a few pictures to some previous posts to give a better sense of what I'm talking about...so if you're interested, have a look...I do have to warn you, however, that the picture on the "Lassie" post might make some of you uneasy...

A bangin' good time...

This last Saturday, I did one of the weirdest things I’ve done since arriving in this country, and certainly the weirdest thing I’ve done soberly since arriving in the country. I went to a themed DVD bang. DVD bangs exist in heavy concentrations throughout Daegu, and I presume that they exist in heavy concentrations throughout most cities in Korea. Essentially, a DVD bang is a small room, consisting of a high-definition television and a few pillows, which can be rented out for private use. The reason for their popularity (I presume) is because most young adults here live with their parents up until the time that they marry, and since most homes are very small, there are few places to get some alone time with a lover. Thus the DVD bang was born. I understand the concept. However, there are a few details about DVD bangs that leave me befuddled. First of all, if the real purpose of a DVD bang is to watch a movie in privacy, then most places have failed to meet this basic goal. The DVD bang we went to basically consisted of a long corridor that was vaguely reminiscent of the corridor seen in The Shining, down which there were maybe 7 or 8 rooms on either side. The rooms had walls, of course, but they only went up ¾ of the way to the ceiling, and doors were replaced with curtains. What this means is that, although they put a cap on how loud you can have the volume, you can still quite clearly hear other people’s movies and conversations (the latter of which we wouldn’t understand anyways). Another strange thing about the DVD bang was the movie choices. For reasons that don’t warrant an explanation, we opted to watch an American film with Korean subtitles, but our choices were pretty much limited to movies that were made sometime between 1995 and 2004. For this reason (and because we felt guilty for taking too long to make a decision because the DVD bang guy didn’t trust our level of competency enough to leave us alone with the remote), we ended up watching A Knight’s Tale, a really bad Heath Ledger film that seemed really good the last time I watched it at age 14. When we finally decided on a movie, we put it on pause and went out to the lobby to get some snacks. Most snacks (except beer) were included in the room rental fee, so we took full advantage of the ice cream, stale microwaved popcorn, Nesquik, Kool-aid, hot chocolate, tea, and toast. But there is one thing that makes eating toast and watching A Knight’s Tale in a semi-private room in Korea more bizarre than it already is. The thing that set this DVD bang apart from the others was its theme. Not every DVD bang in Korea has a theme, but every once in a while you’ll stumble across a precious gem that adds an extra layer of weirdness to an already weird concept. And in the case of Suu Café, this precious gem is teddy bears.


The rooms, rather than being painted in eggshell white or earth tones, were plastered with floor to ceiling hot pink wallpaper, which was sporadically dotted with brightly colored beach sandals and sunglasses. Decorating the walls was a white-framed oval mirror that looked like it came out of Snow White, and on either side of said mirror was an identical framed picture of what appeared to be an 18th century curly-haired toddler standing next to an unusually large display of roses. On both sides of the T.V. (also framed in white), there was a pink wall lamp, the shade of which had dangling pink jewels hanging from it. Just beneath the T.V. there were two tiny pink tables which would have been an ideal place to have high-tea with my stuffed animals and my alter-ego, Mrs. Clockone, twenty years ago. The curtains and pillows were of a matching fabric of rose prints and pink frilly trim. Sitting in the corner of the room was a large, light brown, somewhat melancholy teddy bear. We did our best to cheer him up. Originally, I thought that perhaps our evening at Suu Café would make me feel nostalgic for childhood. However, it mostly just made me feel like a Byung Tae (i.e. pervert).


I heard that there is an African Safari themed DVD bang somewhere in Daegu…I won’t rest until I find it…

the irrational beliefs of a self-centered girl

I spent a solid portion of the past week walking around with what I thought was a visceral feeling telling me that the Vikings were going to make it to the Super Bowl this year. Of course, destiny (arguably) can’t be changed, and unfortunately the Vikings are destined to be forever within the grasp of a Super Bowl victory only to be struck with an agonizing and demoralizing defeat in the final seconds of the final round of the playoffs. I realize now upon further contemplation that this feeling that I thought was instinctive had nothing to do with a belief that the Vikings’ unlucky legacy was about to be broken, but it had everything to do with the fact that I am an egocentric individual. Here’s the thing: If I were back in the States, I doubt that this seemingly instinctive feeling would have been present at all. Sure, I would have gotten my hopes up, but I also would have assumed that the Vikings would probably lose because this is what you always have to assume if you decide to become the fan of a team that perpetually chokes on its own success. But my belief that the Vikings had a shot this time around had less to do with a false sense of optimism and more to do with an egoistic belief that everything about a place changes dramatically when you leave it. Even though it is illogical, it is still tempting to imagine that the cosmos will not remain in order if you are removed from a particular situation…that my absence from the country will somehow cause the Vikings to become Super Bowl champs. While my head understands that an expatriate living on the other side of the globe has little to no influence over the outcome of a major sporting event, my heart refuses to acknowledge that my self-imposed removal from the country ultimately doesn’t make said country lose its identity. While I know that my mom will still play computer games that involve popping bubbles, and my dad will still go to poker on Tuesday nights, and Cindy Sue will still demand ice cubes in her water bowl, and one brother will analyze what went wrong with the Steelers this season while the other brother will buy and sell things related to fishing on eBay, it is still difficult for me to imagine that everything will go on back home exactly as it did before I left. Perhaps because almost everything about my world has changed in the last six weeks, it is impossible for me to understand that the world I left can remain unaltered. And the realization that everything is still the same makes me feel simultaneously happy and sad. Happy to know that some things will never change – and sad to be missing out on those things…

The thoughts that cross my mind on four hours of sleep...

At the present moment, I again find myself in a coffee shop, as I still do not have the internet at my place. It will be at least another two weeks before I have my alien card due to the fact that someone somewhere screwed up my application and I had to re-apply. This really makes me jazzed, as it means that I can't have the internet, a cell phone, or a bank account for at least two more weeks. By the time I get them, I will have been here almost two months. But my school gave me a cash advance, so it will be fine. I'm just cranky because I'm hungover. I really do drink far less than all of my blog posts suggest...

This morning when I went to my preferred coffee shop at 10:13 a.m., I found that it was closed so I had to go to another one down the street. They opened at 10:00 a.m., I have been here for well over an hour, and so far I have been the only customer. I'm used to it by now, but it initially struck me as a bit odd that nobody in Korea drinks coffee at what would be considered peak coffee drinking hours in the States (approximately 6:00 a.m.-11:00 a.m.). Coffee in Korea is not treated as a drug; it's treated as a lifestyele. People don't speed through a pick-up window at Starbucks demanding grande frappacinos with a triple shot of espresso, no whip, and skim milk. Instead, they typically sit inside the coffee shop and languorously linger over a latte for a few hours with friends. It's more about social interaction and less about getting the jitters. While the coffee shops do open late, they also stay open late (usually until midnight), and actually have a pretty steady clientele up until that point. I don't know what point I'm trying to make...I don't know if I'm really trying to make a point at all...it's more of an observation...a rambling, incoherent observation that I make as I try to cure this hangover the Western way: with coffee.

Before I go home and go back to bed for a few hours, I want to make one more rambling, incoherent observation. Yesterday morning, I woke up singing the local television jingle of an ear, nose, and throat clinic back home. I only know the words in fragments, but I know the beat well. It goes something like this: "We're the best da da da da da everything you do da da da da discover a healthy new you da da da da Midwest, ear, nose, and throat!" I have been here for well over a month now. I am on the other side of the globe. I am constantly being distracted and introduced to new things. I am hearing a different language being spoken all around me all the time. There is a lot of noise. I therefore don't know whether to be frightened or amused by the fact that I can wake up in South Korea singing a local advertisement jingle to a health clinic in South Dakota that I will likely never visit. What does this imply about the apparent effectiveness of seemingly outdated advertising techniques such as the annoying jingle? What does my own memory and recital of said jingle imply about myself as a human being? What does the existence of an advertisement for an ear, nose, and throat clinic imply about society in general? Am I supposed to feel inclined to go get an earwax cleaning in the same way that I am supposed to feel inclined to go buy a cheeseburger?

Anyways, I need to go. They seem to have decided to play American hip-hop music to please me. Little do they know, I am no Chris Brown fan...

Lassie Come Home...

This last weekend, aside from drinking too much alcohol yet again, Kelly and I went to Seomun market in Daegu, which is the third largest market in Korea. Like most markets, it sold a lot of cheap goods (“cheap” meaning both inexpensive and poorly made), a lot of fish and produce, and a lot of curious cuisine from food stalls (“curious” meaning that there is a 30% chance it will be tasty and a 70% chance you will get food poisoning). But there was one thing being sold at this market that set it apart from every other market I have been to, and it was one thing that my virgin eyes were not prepared to see…Dogs…My astonishment at seeing these animals in the market has less to do with their presence and more to do with their purpose, for these were not dogs that were intended to take home to play with. These were dogs that were intended to take home and throw into a bubbling cauldron of stew.

Before I go any further, I feel the need to defend Koreans for slaughtering innocent puppies for dinner (this is already sounding like a weak defense). The thing is, a vast majority of Koreans don’t have pets, mostly out of practicality because a lot of homes (particularly in urban areas) are too small to justify owning and caring for a pet. This doesn’t mean that pet dogs are obsolete in Korea, but they are uncommon. Furthermore, if people do own a pet dog here, they generally don’t treat it as a valued member of the family. While you may see people dress their dogs in ridiculous outfits, you will never see them babbling on with sincere affection about their dog’s unique sense of loyalty and camaraderie. There is no Korean equivalent to one of my cousin Annie’s frequented websites, www.doodlekisses.com, a facebook-style website for Golden Doodles and the people who love them. Pet dogs and cats in Korea are pretty much the emotional equivalent of goldfish in America. If they become too high maintenance, we might flush them down the toilet, and we have really no problem chowing down on a nice fish sandwich afterwards. However, chowing down on a hot bowl of dog stew is not really as common as I seem to be making it sound. Dog meat is considered something of a delicacy item here, and it is quite expensive from what I understand. Additionally, there is about a 0.1% chance that I (as a Westerner) will inadvertently order such an item. Apparently the restaurants that have dog on the menu exclusively have dog on the menu, and you will know if you enter into one such establishment. I’ve also heard that most Koreans will be rather hesitant to serve dog to Westerners because they know how we feel about such animals and assume that we don’t have a clue what we’re about to put into our bodies.

I feel somewhat ashamed to admit that, until seeing the palm-sized puppies being sold alongside chickens and roosters in the market, I dabbled with the notion of eating dog at some point while here. I previously imagined that only old, ugly mutts nearing the end of their natural lifespan would be sacrificed for human consumption. I’m not sure why I thought this, and I’m not sure why I thought this would somehow be better. I suppose it is a natural human tendency to create less haunting fictions of the realities about which we would prefer to remain ignorant. When I saw the animals huddling together in their cages, I tried to convince myself that they were intended to be sold as pets, that surely nobody would heartlessly murder man’s best friend for a tender and juicy kebob. Of course, my heart knew that the remnants of these pups would eventually end up in the feces of humans.

I am not a terribly emotional individual. I used to weep for hours at movies like Old Yeller and Homeward Bound, but adulthood has stripped me of my childhood innocence and has turned me into a cold, callous old turd. But for just a fleeting moment at the market, I felt a spontaneous surge of emotion, and it was at this moment that I knew I could never willingly consume dog while in Korea. As I stared at the tiny, adorable dogs, shivering both from the cold and from fear, I was reminded of all the good times I had with my dog Scrappy (deceased) and my cat Cindy Sue (living) back home…the stupid pet tricks, the photo shoots, the endless hours of playing “catch the laser light,” the long conversations in which I did a majority of the talking…I thought about how these dogs would never have the opportunity to grow up and help the blind see, help a fire fighter extinguish flames, help a police man bust a drug dealer for smuggling cocaine, or help a rescue worker save a child trapped beneath earthquake rubble in Haiti. I thought about how these dogs would never have a chance to catch a burglar, make a small child giggle, chase a mailman, or rescue a drowning boy from a hole in a frozen pond. In the midst of these thoughts, it occurred to me that I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to purchase all of the puppies in every market in Korea and set them free. At the very least, I wanted to write a Disney movie based on this premise, starring myself in the lead role. Perhaps I’m being overly sentimental…In any event, it makes no difference, for my powerful impulse to set the puppies free occurred too late. Before leaving the market, we walked by the cages again. Two animals had disappeared. I’m sorry, Cindy Sue…I am so sorry…

Happy Anniversary!

Today is my one month anniversary with Korea. My shower helped me celebrate this morning by giving me hot water for the first time since arriving in this country. You see, my shower has been putting me through a rigorous series of cruel hazing rituals for the last month. Not only has it forced me to put up with extreme discomfort in tight quarters, a general lack of water pressure, and partial hypothermia, but it also greeted me with a whopper of a clog that even three bottles of Drano could not cure. While I (sort of) fixed the drain issue, the hot water issue proved to be a crippling challenge which I approached with a new method of attempted repair every day…and every day, I failed abysmally. But today, I finally defeated the cold water demons (I won’t bore you with how I accomplished this unremarkable feat). Not surprisingly, a few hours after I relearned that personal hygiene doesn’t have to feel like a mild form of torture, someone finally showed up to my apartment to help me fix my hot water; it looks like the shower got the last laugh.

But alas, I have learned more in the last month than how to deal with a perpetually unpleasant bathing experience. Here is a brief, bulleted list of some of the other things that Korea has taught me thus far:

1. How to routinely escape the untimely death of getting run over by a motorcyclist, a taxi driver, or an elderly but feisty pedestrian

2. How to never be disappointed when the breads and sweets that looked so delicious in the display case fail to taste even remotely similar to the way they appear

3. How to eat cow spine soup and enjoy it immensely

4. How to waste 10 minutes of class time by measuring your eyelashes with a ruler

5. How to get a Korean guy with a Kate Gosselin haircut to tell you repeatedly without inquiry that he is, in fact, not a homosexual

6. How to inadvertently get a Korean co-worker to put random notes and gifts on your desk every day

7. How to get store proprietors and food vendors to inexplicably give you significantly more than you paid for

8. How to unintentionally annoy the entire British population with your accent, vocabulary, and removal of the “u” in the words “colour” and “favourite”

9. How to tell a stranger in Korean that you would prefer it if he didn’t clean your ears (Kwi-so-je-neun ha-ji ma-se-yo)

10. How to get a taxi driver to take you anywhere in three words or less

11. How to feel tall by being yourself

12. How to drunkenly convince yourself that you are, in fact, in the women’s bathroom even though you see men using urinals

13. How to use metal chopsticks with only a moderate amount of incompetence

14. How to take thirty minutes to read a non-phonetic word in Korean (and feel proud of this accomplishment)

15. How to do almost anything with a hangover (and feel proud of this accomplishment)

A bit of random weirdness...

Every day on my way to work, I pass a lifeless but smiling lego jedi that is trying (unsuccessfully) to direct traffic. Every day I chuckle inwardly (and sometimes outwardly) at the concept of using a life-size version of an inanimate children’s toy to fulfill the duties of a traffic cop. Today, for the first time since being here, I did not chuckle. I’ve been in South Korea for almost a month now. What this means is that the things that initially struck me as hilarious, bizarre, or hilariously bizarre, are now beginning to feel normal. I don’t really want this to happen; I want to feel permanently amused, and I don’t ever want the reverse swastikas [which are a Buddhist symbol that (I presume) is unconnected to Nazi Germany] to seem “normal.” But alas, I am no longer fazed when the complimentary snack that the bartender places in front of me looks strikingly similar to minnows that accidentally became shriveled and dried in the mid-afternoon sun. So before I become entirely too comfortable munching on something with its head still intact, I should probably mention a few other Korean oddities that might eventually become mundane a few months hence:

1. Bus Salesmen – Occasionally while on the bus or the subway, a salesman will hop on and try to sell people a product that is typically related to the prolongment of one’s own life. In and of itself, this is not terribly unusual, as pesky salesmen throughout the world are consistently trying to sell various products in places where there are mass concentrations of people who have no choice but to remain in the proximity of said salesmen or throw themselves out the window. What is unusual, however, is that the salesmen here appear to not be considered “pesky” by the general populace. If you go almost anywhere else in the world, nobody is going to buy something from a quack on the subway, even if the product he happens to be selling is something which you genuinely wish to buy. This is why I was rather stunned when I witnessed one such quack get on a bus, give a presentation that people actually listened to, and rake in the cash for a product that I don’t even think my mother (QVC’s most important customer who has, at various times, purchased a quesadilla maker, a “perfect pancake” pan, and a taco warming station in the design of a miniature food cart) would have purchased. Basically, he was selling patches that had the appearance and texture of sandpaper, which were cloaked in the scent of ginseng (definitely an acquired scent, and an even more acquired taste). By placing the patches on your skin, your body will allegedly be rid of toxins. Unless I completely missed something, that is the miracle which this ginseng sandpaper promised to perform. I may have miscounted, but I’m fairly certain that the only people who didn’t buy the product were the six ungrateful Caucasians in the back of the bus. I have three potential theories to explain this unusual occurrence. 1. Koreans are profoundly gullible. 2. Ginseng sandpaper is a hot commodity that Westerners simply cannot comprehend. 3. There is some sort of cultural obligation to support local bus salesmen in a way that there is a cultural obligation to support local businessmen back home. Mark my words: I will crack this mystery before I return to America…

2. Adult Jungle Gyms – Playgrounds for children exist in relative abundance in Korea. But strangely (or perhaps predictably), playgrounds for adults exist in almost equal numbers. On one of my first days here, I got lost, wandered around aimlessly, and stumbled upon a woman who appeared to be using a Gazelle at the edge of the sidewalk while looking at the beautiful scenery of traffic. I presumed at the time that I had hit upon gold and that this would be the exclusive place in Korea that I could go to see public outdoor gym equipment. Of course, this was only the beginning. I soon discovered that you will not only find a random machine in isolation at the edge of the road, but you will also occasionally discover an entire fitness club in the center of a public park. Upon first glance, the brightly colored, deadbolted equipment looks like any other playground. But upon closer inspection, it becomes obvious that these non-electric Nordic Tracks, Gazelles, and elliptical trainers are intended to appeal to the audience of adults. And if wear and tear is a suitable indicator, they do appeal to adults. Or perhaps the wear and tear is just the result of natural erosion…

3. Couples’ Outfits – In America, many a joke has been cracked about couples who have been together for so long that they begin to take on each other’s physical characteristics. Their haircuts, their glasses, and their outfits have been expertly choreographed to symbolically announce to the world that they would prefer to sacrifice their individuality for the endless benefits that come along with coordinating wardrobes. After all, nothing says “we are one soul” like a matching sweater vest. But in Korea, the concept of wearing matching outfits is no laughing matter. When couples here consciously decide to dress identically, the gesture isn’t meant to be taken as a sarcastic practical joke. It’s as serious as global warming (which, depending on who you are, may be interpreted to mean that it is either (a) profoundly serious, or (b) the biggest practical joke to ever be played on humanity…aren’t similes fun?) In any event, I couldn’t help but stare in awe and wonder when, a few weeks ago while shoving my 17th consecutive piece of low-grade conveyor belt sushi down my throat, I witnessed the notion of couples’ outfits being taken to an all too literal level. Generally, when I think of couples who dress alike, I think of a couple who is perhaps wearing blue jeans, a similarly styled sweater, and a coat and shoes in the same color. But in Korea, couples’ outfits are as indistinguishable as Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. In fact, they are packaged and sold this way in clothing stores. They even package lingerie this way. The woman mannequin will be wearing a silky black number with tiny pink hearts, and her mannequin boyfriend will be proudly donning boxers in an identical fabric and pattern next to her. But I never saw a couples’ outfit on actual humans until I saw a couple leaving the sushi restaurant, hands in each other’s back blue jean pocket on which there appeared to be sewn a navy blue butterfly. A somewhat sheer white shirt hung just below the belt, and a black puffy coat ended just above the belt, leaving a one inch strip of white fabric hanging out in a consciously disheveled fashion. Their shoes may or may not have differed in style, but both were black, and I can only assume that if I would have gotten a good look at them from the front, each would be sporting a pair of thick-framed black glasses. There is no doubt in my mind that undergarments of black silk and pink hearts completed the final layer of textile synchronization…

A Brief Observation...

At the present moment, I am sitting on an unreasonably comfortable couch in a coffee shop called "Coffee and Free Time." I just had a lovely latte, the cream of which was shaped into multiple tiny hearts. I felt guilty about demolishing its artistic perfection. This is my favorite coffee shop in Daegu, not only because it has good coffee and comfortable furniture and is five minutes away from my apartment, but also because they always play an incredibly good selection of music. However, the latter fact is one that kind of bothers me even though it probably shouldn't. You see, I am sharing this coffee shop with 17 Korean customers and 2 Korean baristas. Most of the time, when I go to a PC Bang, grocery store, or bar, I am the only Westerner there or I am there with a few other Westerners. But every time we enter into really any business, the music immediately switches from a Korean pop song to something American or possibly British. I suspect that this isn't a coincidence. Of course, American music is listened to throughout the world, but I would surmise that they probably listen to far less of it than their establishments suggest. And the notion of going out of the way to accommodate to Western desires can be broadened further to apply to a number of situations. I have noticed that, while people are extremely friendly and welcoming, they tend to heavily pour on the over-the-top top gestures that typically just make you feel weird. For example, my friend Katie was walking one day with her shoes untied and a little old lady was practically grabbing at her feet in the middle of the street trying to make sure that she knew her shoes were untied. While walking up a mountain gloveless (because I was hot, not because I didn't have them), a Korean couple insisted that I take their gloves until I showed them that I indeed had my own. The other day, a Korean co-worker asked if I had had dinner yet, and when I informed her that I had not, I found a sweet potato on my desk the next day along with a note informing me that I should have dinner. And while I love the generosity involved in these gestures, it makes me feel guilty. I don't want to be accommodated for; I want to be forced to accommodate. And this is why I am mildly annoyed about the fact that this coffee shop is playing music that I happen to love...

Intellectually Inferior

One of the things that I am finding the most striking about living in Korea thus far is the extremely high percentage of excessively intelligent Westerners who live here. Of course, you will stumble across an occasional idiot or an attention-seeker who insists upon doing something loud and obnoxious in public, but for the most part, the people who choose to come here to teach are rather shrewd and scholarly. Amongst the group of friends that I have fallen into, I am intellectually inferior. I consider myself to be a relatively erudite individual who possesses an above-average vocabulary and is fairly well-read on most significant classical texts. At least this is how I viewed my pre-Korea self. But I am slowly beginning to view myself as nothing more than a naïve ingénue with a formerly massive ego. While it took me an indolent four months to finish the last novel I read, my friends are reading Charles Dickens’ lesser known works because they have presumably blown through his more famous ones, and they read complex philosophical essays for pleasure. As I plug away at this blog, they are writing poetry and novels. Despite the damage that these facts have inflicted upon my sense of self-worth, I find their company to be immensely enjoyable and their extracurricular reading and writing endeavors to be inspiring. Their particular variety of cultural refinement is anything but pompous, and it frankly feels refreshing to discover mass concentrations of people who love classical literature and loathe the Twilight series. It also feels refreshing to be able to connect with people on a level that goes far beyond social conventions and superficial chit-chat. A few friends from a different part of Daegu came to Chilgok yesterday with the intention of exploring the area with me and Kelly. However, we never really got around to embarking on our intended expedition, as we started off the journey by stepping into a coffee shop and not leaving for three hours. The conversation was just too engrossing to leave it unfinished. Admittedly, I contributed to maybe 10% of this discussion, as I am not particularly well-versed in the language of existentialism, psychological experiments of the mid-20th century, and the racial and socioeconomic implications of demographic shifts in the neighborhoods of urban areas. But existing in an environment that nurtures such topics of discussion, I think I might ultimately get there…

The Underground English Trade, etc.

Koreans on the street don’t generally approach me or casually say “hello” in a way that they periodically do back home. This isn’t viewed as being cold in this country, and it doesn’t particularly bother me as I used to routinely make fun of my father for waving to random passersby who were zipping by on the highway at 70 mph. If a Korean approaches you out of the blue, it is usually for one of four reasons: 1. They want to sell you something. 2. They are 5-years-old, recognize instinctively that you are not Korean, assume (correctly) that you speak English, and say “hello” to you to make their parents or friends giggle. 3. They want you to come to their homes to teach them English. 4. You are sharing a mountaintop with them, the endorphins have effectively kicked in, and they want nothing more than to give you a bag of oranges.

Situation #3 has occurred twice now, and both times were within the span of an hour. I’ve heard that this sort of scenario is not uncommon: a person who speaks moderately good English wants, for various reasons, to speak better English, and they would prefer to learn it privately from someone who speaks the language natively. Occasionally they might want you to teach both them and their children. Or even in some cases, they might want you to teach multiple children whose parents cannot afford to send them to a proper hagwan. I’ve heard that this is a pretty easy way for teachers to make extra money during the day or on the weekends…of course, it is completely illegal. My visa allows me to come here to earn money from one specific job…if it was discovered by the government that I was making an extra income from elsewhere, I would be slapped with a fine and would probably get sent home. The Korean government also rewards people for tattle-taling. If a person is caught violating the rules of his/her visa, the person who tattled will get half of the money from the fine. Therefore, if (hypothetically) I were to illegally distribute my English language ability, I would have to be extremely clandestine about the exchange. I’ve heard that it’s probably safer to get recommendations from another foreigner than it is to accept a proposition from a woman who approaches you in the grocery store. The two women who approached me and my friend Kelly both seemed very honest and sincere, but since I am a terrible judge of character, there is no way to know for sure. They both gave us their phone number and home address, and begged us to call them when we finally get phones. I have no intention of doing so at this point. For now, I am content with my above average income and 30 hour workweek.



Situation #4 happened to me last Sunday. Daegu is basically surrounded on all sides by mountains. Therefore, there is no lack of places to go hiking. On a frigid day in December, I was not expecting to face a traffic jam atop a mountain. As is usually the case, I was wrong. Koreans evidently love their hiking, and they prove it by decking themselves out in high-tech gear and titanium climbing poles. I felt both ashamed and amused as a middle-aged Korean woman walked up the mountain backwards at a pace that was faster than the one I was moving at forwards. I don’t know what it is about the mountain air that makes people so damned happy, but the Koreans you encounter in nature take on a different persona than the ones you encounter on the subway. Perhaps it was the sense of community that comes along with taking on nature’s beast in unison, perhaps it was the feel-good energy that comes along with extracting sweat, or perhaps it was the fact that I smelled soju on the breath of a lot of fellow hikers. Nevertheless, roughly 50% of the people we passed greeted us with an “Anyeong-ha-se-yo” or a rapid, smiling sentence in Korean that I did not understand but responded to by smiling widely, nodding rapidly, and making a random noise that suggested “I don’t have a bloody clue what you just said, but I like you…” If they weren’t trying to verbally communicate with us, they were likely trying to communicate by feeding us. Here’s a tip: If you are ever broke and would like some fresh produce, go climb a Korean mountain. Apples and oranges were being hurled in our direction all day, and the Koreans wouldn’t take no for an answer, so we had no choice but to squeeze them into our pockets and backpacks. It was amusing right away, but after awhile I began to feel like a zoo animal. “Here’s an orange, Jin Hyeok,” I imagined they were saying. “Go see if you can get the American with the jellyfish-like hair to eat it from the palm of your hand…it’s o.k.; it won’t bite.” Before long, whenever I would see people get that crazy look in their eyes like they wanted to give me something, I would instinctively try to take an alternate route. I wasn’t intentionally being rude…I just have no use for three pairs of gloves…

Irish names are easy...

When I was student teaching in Ireland I had a small but significant percentage of students who had Irish Gaelic names like Caoimhe (pronounced “Queeva”) and Tadhg (pronounced “Tyg”). It was challenging at that moment to remember these names. In comparison with what I’m forced to try to remember now, Irish names were almost disgustingly easy. I have 19 separate sets of students, 11 of which I see twice a week and 8 of which I see once a week. One kid’s name might be Sung Yun while the kid sitting next to him is Seung Yun; meanwhile, Su Jin and Jin Su are sitting on the opposite side of the room. To make matters worse, they frankly all look quite similar in that they all have the same color of hair, eyes, and skin. Unless a child is abnormally big, abnormally small, has a wild color of frame on his/her glasses, or looks like a tiny Korean version of someone I know from back home, there is really nothing that sets him/her apart from the rest of the students. Some students take up an English name like “Sandy” or a silly nickname like “No English.” One child decided to give herself the nickname of “B.O.” and I didn’t have the heart to tell her what this acronym stands for in English. Consequently, I never forget her name. It helps me tremendously when kids take up a name that I am familiar with, but I don’t like imposing nicknames on the students; it makes me feel like I am basically saying “You will conform to my way of life whether you like it or not!” So for now I guess I’ll just get giggled at when I mispronounce Eui Jin four consecutive times before tossing my hands up in the air in surrender…

reasons why I need to learn Korean...

I desperately need to begin learning more Korean. I’ve been here about a week and have thus far only managed to learn to say “hello,” “goodbye,” “yes,” “no,” “thank you,” “excuse me/I’m sorry,” “Chilgok – Dong Pyung elementary school, please,” “tuna stew,” and “please don’t clean my ears.” It’s enough to get by for now, but I’m frankly growing tired of feeling a constant sense of shame and embarrassment every time I show my face in public. For the first three days of being here, I just smiled and nodded a lot whenever any non-English speaking person addressed me. I got laughed at by the sushi guy and the bakery guy for putting their respective products directly into my cart rather than into a small box to be priced. I got laughed at by the taxi driver for being too incompetent to form a coherent phrase in Korean. I got laughed at by a group of teenage boys who said “hello,” followed by an extremely rapid sentence in Korean, followed by a simultaneous burst of hysterical giggles. I routinely confuse the expression for “excuse me/I’m sorry” (mi-an-ham-ni-da) with the expression for “thank you” (kam-sa-ham-ni-da). What this means is that occasionally when I run into someone with my shopping cart, I say thank you, and when I have money transactions with the cashier, I apologize.

But the defining moment of my idiocy occurred when I was trying to purchase garbage bags. Waste removal in Korea is, in a word, complicated. You don’t just fill up trash bags and throw them into a dumpster whenever you feel like it. Waste in my part of the city is removed on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays between the hours of 8:00 P.M.-12:00 A.M., and if you put your bags out on the wrong day, you could potentially face a fine. Food waste is put into a red bucket that must have a prepaid ticket around the handle to be removed. Certain recyclables are put into a mesh bag (which I am yet to find). Other recyclables are bundled up individually. Everything else is put into a regular bag that cannot be purchased on the shelf of a store but has to be asked for specifically at the counter. And this is where my moment of idiocy occurred. I got to the counter and said “suregi bongtu juseyo.” The cashier understood “bongtu,” as she held up and pointed to a shopping bag. I attempted to explain through exaggerated gestures and a picture of a garbage truck that I did not want a shopping bag but instead wanted garbage bags. She did not understand, and she called over three coworkers to try to interpret my desires. Meanwhile, a small crowd of onlookers began forming around me, all of them trying to be the first to crack the code of what the strange and exotic white person wanted. I left the store with half of what I came for: food trash tickets. However, it took me three days to go back and muster up the courage to ask for trash bags again. Evidently I would rather wallow in my own self-imposed filth than willingly submit to mild forms of public torture and humiliation…

1st weekend out and new friends

I just had an absolutely fantastic weekend. After school on Friday night (yes, children in Korea do go to school on Friday evenings…more on that later) I went out with my friend Kelly who started at my school at the same time as me. We met up with her friend Anthony and some of his friends in central Daegu. Almost all of the people we met up with work at some branch of MoonKkang and everyone was from various parts of the English speaking world – the U.K., scattered regions of Canada and the U.S., etc. We went to a few different bars/nightclubs and it felt bizarre how much I didn’t feel like I was in Korea. Most of the places we went were inhabited by a 10:1 Caucasian/Korean ratio, played American music, and sold some American beverages (I was quite delighted to have a vodka cran at one of the places we went). Quite clearly, there are a good number of ex-pat bars in Korea. Before long, it was 6 a.m. and we decided to have breakfast at an “orange shop” which is sort of like an inexpensive, small Korean diner. Bars essentially don’t close here. They close whenever people feel like going home. This may seem problematic, and I suppose in some ways it may be. However, in defense of Korean bars, I must mention one notable difference between them and bars back home: they do not endorse binge drinking. If you really wanted to binge drink in a Korean bar, you certainly could, but it is not necessary. Back home, everyone drinks as much as humanly possible in three or four hours in a race against the clock. When 1:00 rolls around, people drink twice as fast and start ordering shots. Everyone is constantly checking the clock to see how much time they have left to pour alcohol down their throats. But since the factor of a closing time is eliminated in Korea, people are encouraged to drink at a natural pace. You still get intoxicated, of course, but it’s a progressive, social, happy drunk. Much more pleasant.

And now that I’ve proudly made a distinction between different variations of drunkenness, I’m going to tell you about the even more pleasant sober day I had yesterday. You know you’re in good company when you enjoy the people you’re with even more when you’re sober than when you’re drunk. Kelly and I went into downtown Daegu at about 2:00 and did some exploring. I don’t know what exactly I was expecting to see when I came to Korea. I was, of course, fully expecting to see some golden arches in the shape of an M, one of the most obvious symbols of modern Western civilization. I was expecting to see a few random American chains that would give me an inner chuckle as I walked down the street and cheerfully said to myself, “Who would have thought that the first Dunkin’ Donuts I would ever enter would be in South Korea?!?” I was expecting that I would have to go out of my way to tucked away corners of the city to find some hidden gems that would provide me with a refreshing taste of home. As is usually the case, all of my preconceived notions about Korea have proven to be entirely false. Frankly, Korean shopping and eating appears at first glance to be more Americanized than America, or at least more Americanized than the America that I know. Coming from a small town in a small state, it seems bizarre to me that there are certain American franchises that I can go to in South Korea that I cannot go to in South Dakota. I haven’t yet decided whether I think this is a great thing or a terrible thing; right now, I just find it amusing.

In the midst of our exploration, Kelly and I spotted a coffee shop that had swings in the windows for customers to put themselves on display like exotic fish in an aquarium for all the walkers outside to gawk at. Never wanting to miss an opportunity to be gawked at, we decided to escape from the cold and leisurely sip a latte and have a chat on the swings. Two hours later, we finally left and met up with more or less the same gang that we were with the night before. We had some dinner at a pizza place, and it was decent although I generally disagree with the Korean belief that corn kernels make an appetizing pizza topping. We then had some more coffee and did some more wandering before going to see the movie Avatar in 3D. I had never been to a movie in 3D before, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that even my defective Deacon eyes were able to appreciate the awesomeness of watching a film on a really big screen in three dimensions. The only somewhat unusual difference that I detected between Korean/American movie theaters is that the seats are assigned and there were a few interesting snack choices…I still don’t feel like I’m in South Korea, or at least the place that my imagination envisioned South Korea would be. Evidently that place only existed in my imagination. I basically feel like I’m living in a commune at a random location in Asia that was set up by a bunch of like-minded white people…and you know what? I like this alternative society.

the fun things I can put into my body...

I just returned from my first trip to the grocery store, and I am going to need to learn to seriously pace myself. I tried very hard to conceal my absolute exuberance as I walked up and down aisles of foods that I didn’t even know existed; I doubt I succeeded. Generally speaking, I know my way around a produce aisle pretty handily. I have eaten my fair share of pomegranates, parsnips, golden kiwi, blood oranges, leeks, rutabagas, watercress, arugula, star fruit, and horned melons. Typically when I go to a grocery store in the States, the cashier has to ask me exactly what is in my produce bags because he/she frankly doesn’t have a clue. I used to pride myself on my vast knowledge of foods that were grown on a tree or in the ground. I lost that pride today; it has been replaced with deep and sincere humility. And it only begins at the produce. The excessive variety of herbs, sprouts, seaweed, tofu, noodles, sushi, and slimy fish was almost overwhelming. Where you would normally find the section of artisanal meats and cheeses in an American grocery store, you would find soy products and various organisms that came from the sea. Where you would normally go to pick up a whole frozen chicken you would go to pick up a whole frozen octopus. How do you cook an entire octopus, or even a partial octopus for that matter? Even foods that are common to all parts of the world take on a different taste here. I just ate a grape. It had slightly thicker skin and was not genetically modified to have the seeds removed. When I bit into it, I had to seriously question if it was a grape or not. I’ve never been fooled into believing that high-fructose corn syrup laden fruit snacks and juices taste even remotely similar to fruit. I guess the joke’s on me; these grapes are so sweet that they taste exactly like Welch’s grape juice fruit snacks. Even if I purchased one item I have never eaten before every time I went to the grocery store for the next year, I would still be unable to try everything. Of course, you can also find plenty of “western” foods in the grocery store, but they’re so much less exciting. In any event, I’m glad they’re there…I don’t think I can eat squid for every meal…

first night out

I don’t know why I’m coming home at 5:45 a.m. on an early Wednesday morning, but I know that I am. I also don’t know why an embarrassed looking Korean woman just pounded at my door, said something to me that I didn’t understand, bowed and walked away, but I know that she did. I went out last night with three new friends from England, Wales, and Canada after my first night of observation at my school. Of these new friends, Chris has been in Korea for six years, Michael has been here just over a year, and Kelly, like me, is a newbie; I learned a lot. I had my first taste of Korean food, which consisted of kimchi [a traditional Korean dish (fermented cabbage) that is served at basically every Korean meal], various side dishes and condiments, and a peppercorn-laced pork substance that was grilled directly at our table. Basically, you are given a few burners on which to grill your food, and everyone digs into to these dishes family style, grabbing whatever you want with your chopsticks and putting it directly into your mouth rather than on a plate. It initially felt rather savage-like, but I soon remembered that I like feeling like a savage. The food was good and the conversation was better so I suppose this is the reason why I’m coming home at 5:45 on a Wednesday morning. We drank entirely too much beer and soju (which basically tastes like watered down vodka) at the Korean restaurant. We then went to a Japanese bar where we drank entirely too much sake. If I remember correctly, I had to squat down on the floor to urinate in this bar. It was difficult, but I succeeded. If I remember correctly, we had extended conversations about the following topics: religion, politics, our mutual appreciation for dry humor and sarcasm, the personality differences between Prince William and Prince Harry, the fact that I am a self-loathing American who constantly feels the need to apologize to the rest of the world for the war in Iraq, and the movie Dirty Dancing (because this topic invariably comes up in 100% of my drunken conversations). If I remember correctly, I inevitably began to speak with a British accent because, for reasons beyond my control, when I drink too much soju and sake and am in the presence of people who possess an accent different from my own, I involuntarily begin to take on their accent and vocabulary. If I remember correctly, at some point, we got onto the subject of roadkill and I blurted out a drunken confession about the fact that I inadvertently ran over a tiny kitten on the highway about 5 days ago; I am now known as the cat killer. I think I like Korea. I think I like it a lot.

The Arrival

Upon my arrival in Busan, something incredibly strange and completely unexpected happened: things went right. The plane landed on time. I walked through an efficient line for immigration where a pleasant lady silently looked at my documents and stamped my passport. My bags were rotating around the belt when I went to pick them up. Nobody questioned me when I went through the “nothing to claim” line at Customs. Within five minutes of waiting in the arrivals hall, a guy around my age by the name of Hyung Tae approached me, asked if I was working for MoonKkang, and informed me that I looked much better than I did in my photo (which is a back-handed compliment that is sort of true since I did, after all, look like a middle-aged man in my photo). He spoke fluent English, and we drove the hour or so it takes to get to Daegu. We then drove through central Daegu so he could go to his office and pick up my apartment key before heading to Chilgok on the outskirts of Daegu, where I would be living and working. I moved into my apartment immediately, meaning that I don’t have to deal with the inconvenience of temporary housing and only partial unpacking. My next door neighbor is a teacher at my school. Another teacher at my school resides one floor below me. Mike is Canadian, and he will be leaving MoonKkang at the end of the month and will be replaced with a new guy; Nick is from just north of Chicago and has been here for 15 months. I met them last night very briefly and they seemed extremely friendly and helpful, as one of them carried my 65 pound bag up three flights of stairs while I carried his bacon and bread. I stepped into my apartment, which is a lot larger than I expected it to be. It is in a slightly older but highly secure building that houses maybe 12-15 residents. Other MoonKkang teachers live just a few minutes from my apartment. When I opened my bags, everything was intact, and I didn’t discover any tragically exploded bottles or stovetop stuffing remnants. My school purchased a few new things for me including some dishes, pots, pans, and utensils, as well as a brand new LG microwave and Electrolux toaster oven. They provided me with a rather modern 19” LG T.V. and a brand new Sony DVD player. They gave me brand new bedding in my favorite color, purple. My refrigerator is stocked with water, orange juice, milk, bread, jam, and a box of cereal (which I literally found in the refrigerator), so I need not worry about starving this morning. There is a 7 Eleven around the corner, and my new coworkers informed me that there is a grocery store about two blocks away. My bed feels like the equivalent of sleeping on a blanketed coffee table, but I will adjust. My favorite feature of the apartment is the floor…it heats up! This will be the first winter in recorded history that I can walk barefoot around the house and not get frostbite! My apartment also comes furnished with a small table, a few chairs, an entertainment center, an armoire, a washer, a drying rack, and a 2 burner stovetop. I still obviously have some things to buy, but we’re off to a great start, and there are two people living in this building who I can ask where to buy things when I need them.

I don’t know how to react to such a smooth transition and to my own chirpy optimism, and I don’t trust it. Something must go horribly awry, right? I’m still waiting…

en route - part III

I just arrived in the Tokyo airport not long ago. I only have a few minutes before I get on the plane to Busan. I’m still not nervous. Is there something wrong with me? The weirdness of being in a different country still hasn’t set in, probably because all the signs and recorded messages are in both English and Japanese. In fact, it almost seems as though more signs and audio recordings are in English than in Japanese. The only semi-strange moment occurred when going through a security checkpoint. Unlike in America, you don’t take your shoes off when going through security. However, as I walked through the metal detector, my knee-high hooker boots must have set something off and they asked me to remove my boots, but when I did, they made me put on a pair of slippers. I was not particularly surprised by this, as I have read multiple times something about the Japanese and feet, but I can never recall exactly what the prejudice is that they hold against this particular appendage. It’s o.k. I don’t like feet either. But I must board the plane now to my final destination. I’m far too tired to feel even a vague sense of anxiety.

en route - part II

At the present moment, I am flying over North Central Canada. I will give 10,000 won (about 10 bucks) to the first person who can tell me why we must go North over Canada and Alaska only to return South to Tokyo. Our flight pattern forms a perfect arch. What do these pilots and pilots in general (or perhaps airlines in general) have against a straight line? Would that not be more efficient? By the way, I won’t really give you 10,000 won if you can answer this question, unless you demand it, in which case you will have to wait a year to get it, and it will not accrue interest. I would just like to understand the purpose of this flight pattern. Does it have something to do with winds over the Pacific? I hope they have Wikipedia in Korea…

Anyways, it feels weird to be traveling back in time. Throughout this entire flight, I will never see darkness when I look out the window. As the plane heads west, we are slowly but consistently heading backwards in time. This will continue to happen until we reach an imaginary line in the Pacific Ocean that will magically erase a day in my life. In one instant, it will be Sunday afternoon; In the next, it will be Monday afternoon. I suspect that crossing this warp zone is the closest I will ever come to time travel.

I expect that my panic attack is going to set in any time now. It has to, right? #1: I’m sleep deprived. #2: I’m claustrophobic, sandwiched between two unexpectedly enjoyable specimens, and have about 8 hours left on this flight. #3: I’m moving to a foreign country which, even after exhaustive research, I still realistically know very little about. #4: What in the hell am I supposed to do when I get off this plane? I suppose when I get off this plane, I’m going to go to the gate of my next plane. But what do I do when I get off that plane? I asked this question to one of the foreign managers at my school about a week ago and she assured me that someone would be in Busan to pick me up and take me to Daegu. But that was really all she said. What does that mean exactly? Who is this person? What does he/she look like? How am I supposed to find him/her? How is he/she supposed to find me? What if he/she isn’t there? Who do I call? How do I get a hold of someone? Why am I moving to South Korea with all this uncertainty? Am I mentally ill? Even as I ask myself these questions, I cannot force myself to become panicked. I want to become panicked. I desperately want to become panicked. I want to become panicked so I can feel like a normal human being. But the panic has not yet set in, perhaps because I just indulged in a glass of complimentary red wine to accompany my Thai beef that I had for…breakfast? lunch? dinner? I have no idea anymore. I suspect that once the calming effects of this wine fade away, I might have a panic attack. Usually it happens at that first moment that you step onto the soil of a strange new land. I imagine that when I walk into the airport in Tokyo, I will be faced with a triad of questions. Where am I? What time is it? What am I doing here? I am the type of person who despises discomfort. I will go to absolute extremes to avoid uncomfortable situations. Why is it that the discomfort and awkwardness that come along with becoming an immigrant is somehow appealing to me? I don’t know. But I’d like to find out.

en route - part 1

I am in the Minneapolis airport; I have not yet left American soil. I would like a beer right now, and this is evidently not a legitimate possibility. It should be, but it is not. The reason that it should be is because I was supposed to have a 5.5 hour layover. However, that layover is now nonexistent. I was supposed to depart from Aberdeen Regional Airport at 6:30 this morning. We did not depart until 9:30 due to engine problems. I was only mildly annoyed about the delay, as I had a rather lengthy layover and the extra time provided me ample opportunity to stare in awe and wonder at my interesting co-passengers. Roughly 50% of them were glued to the windows like snails in a fish tank, constantly checking to make sure that the plane was, in fact, still on the ground, and that the mechanic had, in fact, still not arrived. By the time he finally showed up, the percentage of curious onlookers rose to 70%, and everyone tried to interpret his movements, as if they actually understood what he was doing. “He’s moving the ladder…that can’t be good!” they cried. “He’s getting inside the plane…that must be good news!” they guessed. I understand that these people were nervous about missing their connections, but it never fails to amuse me when I see people try to play an active role in something over which they have no control. Amongst those who weren’t analyzing the mechanic from afar, 15% were playing with some form of electronic device, 10% were sleeping, and 5% (i.e. me) were trying to understand what possible motive could drive people to plaster their faces against cold glass to try to understand something about which they know nothing.

And this is why I would like to sip a beer before noon on a Sunday, or at least this is the reason I am going to present to you. But instead I am sipping a bottle of designer water and munching on an overpriced and only partially satisfying salad as my final American meal. This slightly depresses me, but only slightly, because it means that it won’t be much longer before I can get this dreadful 13 hour flight out of the way. I must go now. Just as Tiger Woods is about to take an indefinite leave of absence from professional golf, I am about to take an indefinite leave of absence from this country.

just a brief note...

I still have not gotten the internet at my apartment (damn immigration!) However, it has taken me nearly a month to realize that I can access wifi from my computer via a lot of various wifi spots in coffee shops, etc. So, anyways, the following several posts have been written at various times in the past several weeks...