Post #11

Hello Hopeless Romantics,


People, people. Quiet down, take your seats. I have an announcement to make:

I'M IN LOVE!

That's right party people, Kim Hye-Soo, Korean movie star, has officially captured my heart. And do you  blame me?

Despite the fact that she's 43 and far out of my league, I am absolutely committed to making her my wife. Where did this love affair start? Watching the movie "Tazza: The High Rollers." It's a film centered around the game of Korean Poker, where cheating is not only a temptation, but a requirement to winning--so long as you don't get caught. It's honestly one of the best films I've ever seen. Featuring an all-star cast I've never heard of before, Tazza is a mix of drama, romance, comedy, and of course, plenty of ass-kicking. It's one helluva ride, as long as you don't mind subtitles.

But this isn't a movie review site, so let's move on to more important (but less sexy) matters. As you have probably heard, North Korea and South Korea shelled a disputed territory near the DMZ on Tuesday. I want to let you all know, the situation here is not a state of war. This is not 9/11 for South Koreans. Most Koreans I talked to actually laughed about the matter. It wasn't out of a lack of respect for the two dead soldiers. It was more laughter at the absurdity of North Korea. They compare Kim Jung-Il to a child throwing a temper-tantrum. No one here is worried. So long as relations with the good ole U S of A stay firm, there is not a thing to worry about. Kim Jung-Il is crazy, but not crazy enough to mess with America. And I would like to applaud the maturity of the South Korean government throughout this ordeal, although the long term ramifications have yet to be seen..

And for those of you out there who care about me (and really, why wouldn't you if you were reading this blog?), if things go to hell here, I swear to you all, I will get out. I love teaching here, but not if North Korea figures out how to have nuclear weapons.

But enough with the war talk. How bout some updates?

Kumdo: I now officially know how to slice off a man's wrist, and then decapitate him before you can say "kim-chi." And I look damn good doing it, too. I have four strikes at my disposal to put a blade through a man's skull, two ways to dice off his wrist, and if I'm feeling frisky, I can even cut him in half long ways, in a classic "hur-i" strike. Am I a ninja? Do you really have to ask?

And while all the above are true, it's not quite as impressive as you would think. There is a thirty-year-old couple in my Kumdo gym, who have two daughters, ages five and seven, that also sometimes practice with us. It was just in the last few weeks I surpassed these grade school girls in ability. Yeah, that's right. I am now better at Kumdo than a second grader. I feel like Kramer in that Seinfeld episode where he's throwing around all the little kids in karate.

However, for my dedication, I will soon earn my "Hogu," or Kumdo armor, and then I truly become part of the gym. I have to get it specialty made in China and pay extra because it turns out I'm freakishly tall for Asia. Who knew?

Also, if I ever had a fear of full-frontal male nudity, it has now been dispelled. Why, you ask, oh blog reader? Well, it's Kumdo custom is to bow to everyone in your gym when you see them for the first time, a sign of respect. Well, the gym includes the locker room, too. That translates to naked dudes pouring out of the shower, wearing nothing but a smile and bowing to me, saying "Anya-shim-nika!"

There are truly no words to describe how inadequate I felt to handle that situation.

But that was the first time. Now it doesn't bother me at all. Hell, I do it. And as a tip to all you ladies (and a few of you gents out there), turns out Korean men are naturally hairless, if you're into that sort of thing.

And while we're talking about naked men, one of my Kumdo buddies asked me out for a beer the other day. We showered together, he bought me drinks all night, and then walked me home. But again, people, it's Korea, so it's not gay. He's just an older brother (Hyung) taking care of a younger brother (Dongseng).

Actually, he's become a good friend of mine. The coolest thing happened that night. We were discussing everything under the sun, and I found out he was Catholic. He told me the only man he ever sponsored for Confirmation ended up becoming a priest. Fairly impressive, I thought. But then we get talking about Confirmation names, and he tells me he's never had an English name before. So he asks me to give him one.

A thirty-two-year-old sword-fighting married-man asked me to name him. How does one come up with a name for such a man? I just thought of who he reminded me of. Older brother? Confirmation sponsor? Paying for drinks all night? The choice was obvious: I'd name him after Alex Schmidt.

So, in the eyes of all the stupid Americans who cannot pronounce Korean names, Alex Kim was born anew.

But all jokes aside it was a huge honor to name him, and he is a true friend. He even hit on all the girls in the bar for me. All I had to do was sit around and look pretty.

Food: I always think it's better to give bad news before good news. Maybe it's the optimist in me, or the desire to end on a good note. Either way, here goes.

The Bad News--I mentioned before there existed the persimmon, a fruit that looked like a tomato, was hard as a potato, tasted like apple cinnamon, and made me wonder why fruit in America didn't make me as happy. The bad news is, I found something better--and most Americans don't have access to it. The original fruit I had described to you was the hard persimmon. Just the other day, I discovered the soft persimmon. And unless you can find it in your town, people, you are missing out on something truly special. It is soft, looks like a tomato, but tastes like a combination mango, apple, banana, tomato. Sounds strange, but I swear to you it's the pinnacle of fruits. I just ate one. No fruit compares, I don't care how good you think pineapple is. The soft persimmon can make you fall in love again.

The Good News--You don't have to eat the crap food in this country. And if you think of me as imperialistic or elitist for thinking I somehow know better than Koreans, you're simply wrong. My argument is valid and logical and it is the Koreans who are wrong. What am I talking about? Korean pig part street food. They decided, instead of putting all the crappy parts of the pig into making something useful, like a hot dog, they grill it and sell it on the street. What's parts, you ask? Are you sure you want to know? Super sure?

Pig lungs, heart, and intestines. Yeah. Some teacher friends and myself were challenged by a group of Korean bartenders. We could not turn down such a challenge. How were the lungs, heart, and intestines? One was okay, one was awful, and one...well let's just say if I could go back and time and change anything, it wouldn't be the Lincoln assassination. It would be eating this. Take a guess, which one was the worst. Really, think about it. While you're thinking, look at the beauty of this soft persimmon, photographed by yours truly. It should clear your mind. 

Yum yum.

Now on to business. So which of the three made me hate the world?
 
Was it the intestines? Good try but sorry. Those actually didn't taste bad, kind of like Oscar Mayer Bologna, but with a weird slimy consistency. 

Was it the lungs? No. They tasted like...well you know those old vacuum cleaners, the ones that didn't have bags, they just kind of collected dirt on a grated thing in the middle? Eating the lungs was like eating some of that, only meatier. But still, that was not the worst. 

Was it the heart? Of course it was. People, I'm not picky. I had fried cuttle fish that night, which most find disgusting. But the heart, I couldn't handle it. You ever hear the saying: "The heart is the strongest muscle in the body?" That ain't no lie. This pig's heart was tough, rubbery, with the stale taste of blood mixed in with a sickening sweetness that makes your stomach do barrel rolls. But none of that was what really messed you up. What really gets you are the ventricles. You're chewing your way through, trying not to vomit, and then crunch. The ventricles, the giant veins going through the heart, are crunchy. There is no way to prepare yourself for such a terrible revelation, but dear God, it really does rock you.


Cell phones: So, I got a cell phone. Turns out, Korea is the most mobile place on earth. The whole country has excellent service, probably because it's so small. Elevators? No problem. Subways? Sure! North Korea? Probably not. But still, it's very impressive. I got the cheapest phone I could, and it takes great quality photos and videos. The call quality is clear. And it's even kind of a cool looking phone. Called the "Ice Cream." Here's a random K-pop boy band shamelessly peddling  the ice cream (click here). It's proof that if you think commercials in America have become undignified and soulless, we've still got a long way to go.

But the truth is, I hate my phone for two excellent reasons. The first is that the last four digits are 1230. Sounds awesome right? Well, the person who had this number before me evidently thought so too. And she neglected to tell all her friends that she either died or got a new number. Now, every few days I get a random call and text from her friends and family, who yell at me angrily in Korean because I'm not who they wanted. I thought about learning how to say "wrong number" in Korean, but it's funny. I really just don't care. Plus I get some damn pretty picture messages of family reunions on lakes.

I also hate my phone because it has an English setting that is almost completely useless. Sure, it switches some of the Korean into English on the menus, but when it comes to texting and settings, it's all straight Ko-re-an. It make it impossible to do simple things like attach a picture or understand who the hell is calling me.

The only cool thing is I get free cable TV on my phone, just like everyone else in Korea. Crystal clear and smooth. Which reminds me...

Taxis: Korea is more technically advanced when it comes to mobile technology. Every cab driver has a kick-ass GPS system that makes a virtual 3D map of his surroundings, and doubles as a cable TV.

This is yet another reason why I sometimes truly hate this country. The cab drivers in this country rip around, going 60 kilometers/hour over the speed limit (however fast that is), weaving in and out of traffic, all the while watching Korean soap operas. I fear for my life every time I go downtown in a cab. But you're probably saying, "Dan, I've lived in (insert big city name here) and the drivers there drive like (insert swear word here), Korea can't be that much worse." And all that would be fine and true if it weren't for these two facts.

1. Seat belts in Korean taxis are as rare as white people in this country.

2. Korea has the second most car accidents per person per year of any country.

I know. I'm sure you're shocked by the second fact. I couldn't believe it either. I'm sure you'll be even more surprised when I tell you China is number one for car accidents. I'll leave you to draw your own stereotypical conclusions.

Church: My friends, I've been going to an all Korean Church. I don't really understand what they're saying, but I get the general gist. So one day, after Mass, the priest asked me to stop by and chat. Father Andrew is his name, or in Korean (son shin-bo-nim). Awesome guy, really funny and down to Earth. Speaks pretty good English. We hang out and talk for a good hour about life and faith and Korea and America. On my way out, he asks me if I want to meet the youth group at the church. My knee jerk reaction is "Hell no," but I said "Yes" because I wanted to be polite. You see, I find many youth groups in the States to be, well, Jesus Freaks. I'm all about being Catholic, but sometimes these youth groups get to be a little nutty and make me uncomfortable. So I said yes and tentatively went to Mass that next Sunday night, waiting for Mass to end to meet this group and get it over with.

So imagine the look on my face when Father Andrew called out "Dan! Dan!" at the end of Mass. That's right, party people, he dragged me up in front of the entire congregation and made me introduce myself. Handed me a microphone. There, in broken Korean and little kid English, I talked to a room full of over one hundred Koreans. Afterwards, they applauded me and welcomed me into their church. It was one of the most humbling things to happen to this Greenfield boy in his twenty-two years of life.

And as for the youth group? Turns out all they do is get bombed after church together. The sickest I've been in Korea was the night I pounded so-ju with my church youth group. Awesome. But, I was not nearly as hungover as I was after Father Andrew and I went out one night for ma-ka-lee, the traditional Korean wine. The two of us stayed out til two in the morning, drinking ma-ka-lee and talking life and religion. 

And that's where I want to take you, a moment in history that truly touched him, and is worth knowing about Korea, and specifically, Gwang-ju. I want to take you back to May 18th, 1980, Gwang-ju. The site of the May 18th massacre.

Politics are, of course, always a changing front. In Korea, the opposition between the people of Gwang-ju seeking a democratic government and Chun Doo-hwan's military dictatorship. A ten day uprising, beginning on May 18th, led to a crushing defeat of the people by the South Korean military.  One could draw many parallels to the events at Tienanmen Square. People were mowed down by machine gun fire. Horrible things happened, to protesters, soldiers, children, animals. I will not mention the things I have heard because they are not fit to write or say. And while this stands as a black mark in Korea's history, it is also a point of change, to a more free South Korea, a shift towards a democratic state. This dichotomy, this turning point, is tattooed in the brains of those who lived to witness it. Men like Father Andrew, who lost his best friend and decided to enter the priesthood because of what he saw those ten days.

In a way though, I applaud Korea for not doing what China did and covering the whole thing up, as the Chinese did with Tienanmen Square. I've been Tienanmen Square. There is no memorial, no sign, no knowledge that anything ever happened. It was erased, a la Big Brother in "1984." Such things terrify me. But South Korea, with great wisdom, embraced the horror of this day and remembered it. It is now a national holiday.

This country is so fascinating, there is so much to learn and see and do. I've almost been here three months, and yet I learn something new every day. I wish I could share with you everything, but there is only so much time, and there is so much to write.

And my God, would you look at Kim Hye-Soo? She makes me hate and love my eyes at the same time.

So to summarize, people. War is bad, love is good, and Kim Hye-Soo will be my wife someday soon. You can all come to the wedding. But that's all for me today. Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy that dark meat turkey and that gravy and stuffing and pumpkin pie. Some of us will be eating rotten cabbage on this day. And as I said, love is good. I love you all very much. And miss you, too.

-Peacedan

Post #10

Welcome to the DECABLOG!

That's right people, it's been ten official blog entries since I've been here. What does that mean? Absolutely nothing. But still, we're all ten entries deep, so it's time to sit back, reflect, and hear more about the wonderful chaos that is Korea.

Speaking of which:

AH!

Holy crap! Korea's being attacked by skeleton fish!

Not really, but that would be kind of cool. What you're actually seeing is the Korea outdoor fish tanks. You know how in America you can go into your local supermarket and pick your own lobster out of the tank? Same deal in Korea. Except these tanks are everywhere and always outdoors. And forget the lobster, we're rocking mackerel, prawn, and eel. All just chilling outside of shops. As seen below.

They don't mess around with freshness here. It's a treat that nothing out here is processed and loaded with preservatives. That being said, finding some of my American food commodities, such as bread, BBQ sauce, cheese, and all sorts of other western staples dishes has been a bit of a struggle. But in the face of adversity, we all must rise to the challenge. And rise I did. I went grocery shopping with my boss the other night, which was huge. I was no longer terrified of the Korean woman holding up fish jerky and shouting slogans at me. Plus, my boss found me some salsa. It wasn't that I didn't know how to ask for it, I do. The problem is, for those of you who remember, sal-sa is the Korean word for explosive diarrhea. Thanks to my boss, I acquired Mexican salsa and made my patented kick-ass Foley Quesadillas.

Also, thank God for the Underground Market. Yes, such a place exists, but to find it, you have to navigate the downtown. Downtown Gwang-ju is the closest thing in the urban world to the legendary Greek labyrinth. But instead of the Minotaur chasing you, it's an overly-made up Korean girl trying to peddle cheap plastic surgery. And everywhere you turn, there's a slew of giant mascots of reject cartoon characters paid to dance all day with the singular hope of giving me horrible nightmares. Not funny, it really scares the hell out of me. Stink-eye guy is still there, too, to you loyal blog followers. Everything looks the same (their versions of 7-11, the Mini Stop and the Family Mart are literally at every street corner) and if you stray off the main path to try to explore, may God have mercy on your soul. I defy you to find your way back. But if you can finagle your way through this concrete maze, you will come to the Underground Market. These, well, the only word that comes to mind is "Patriots," are selling everything from 32oz blocks of Monterrey Jack Cheese to Dr. Pepper to taco seasoning. They make me a very happy boy.

Speaking of shopping, every Friday, in my district, they have an outdoor market. Here they peddle knockoff Nike apparel and delicious fruit. I just recently bought a pair of boxers that I couldn't resist. Most of you are aware of my natural aversion to pants, and with that, I take my underpants very seriously. So, when I found a pair of boxers, featuring Snoopy and some mouse character dressed like government agents, with Korean symbols dancing in the back like the code bars on the Matrix and a big old Chinese symbol for good luck dead smack in the middle of them, I knew I had found my newest undies.

As for teaching, it's going great. I think I'm really connecting with my students. Tragically, we lost three students last week. One family moved, taking two of my students with them, and another lost all their money in the stock market. I was truly upset. One of the students, Robin, was one of my best and had some truly good insights. Said some stuff about ants that really made me think. Plus, I felt like I was bringing out the best in his language and analytical skills and it sucked to see him go. Also, I had to say goodbye to his little brother Timothy, a boy too smart for his own good, and the infamous Lala, who could be a pain in the ass but was damn cute and really got excited over doing presentations. Robin's Mom came in the other day. She told me Robin really missed having my class. That made me both very happy and very sad.

But not all is dead. We got two new students in recent days. One of these students I teach online, because he lives in Seoul, using Skype and a webcam. Welcome to the twenty-first century people. He's a truly awesome kid, twelve-years-old, well behaved, smart, good sense of humor, and willing to admit when he's wrong. I plan on taking him back to the States and raising him as my son upon my return. It's a cool class, I have it at nights from eight to eight-thirty. The most beautiful thing about it is Skype gives me a chance to mess with him. For instance, after Halloween, we had a class. Someone had left behind a pretty good skeleton mask. As soon as I came on his screen, I was wearing it. He screamed bloody murder. Great way to start class.

And their papers are the best. When I ask them how what they would do if they were the main character, the students come up with all sorts of ideas. Some are brilliant, involving elaborate plans of deception. Some are just excellent accounts of going on a shooting spree and icing all the bad guys. All good answers.

However, I asked one student to talk about what he was passionate about. He gave perhaps the best answer ever, the one that might trump them all, but for neither creativity nor intelligence. It's great for his misunderstanding of English connotation. I have here a direct quote from one of my students' papers. A small part of me thinks it violates my contract to post a student's work online, but I think I'll just bite the bullet. It's worth it. Here goes, my student's exact words:

"First of all, I like to play game with the balls anyway. Particular, all of my friends like to play game with the balls...And it aroused my feelings about the game." 

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

But teaching English to Koreans isn't all ball jokes. Sometimes it's difficult. Korean is an unvoiced language. What does this mean? Well, in English, we make our mouths dance all over the place when we speak, open our mouths wide, and really work our vocal chords. The Koreans, on the other hand, just kinda chill out, don't move their tongue or mouth too much, and don't conjure too much voice. This changes the way their language works.

But I know you, my loyal blog reader, you don't want a linguistics lesson. You want a real world application of this nonsense. Here's a good one.

So the Koreans have this annoying but catchy habit of never ending on a consonant sound, unless if it's "n" or "ng" as in Dan or Dong. They have to do this Korean throaty sound after all other consonant ending words. The sound doesn't really exist in English afterwards but sounds like an "uh." There is another variation where they throw an "ee" sound on at the end just for kicks.

Why do I tell you this? So you can understand my frustration. My school's name is Two Months Academy. "Two" and "Academy" end with vowel sounds, but because "Months" ends with "s," it's pronounced "Two Months-uh Academy." Why? Because otherwise Koreans don't understand what it is you're saying. Yes, the difference between "Two Months Academy" and "Two Months-uh Academy" is paramount to the Korean ear. You want proof?

I live near a place called Lotte Mart. This is a brick monstrosity that makes Wall-Mart look like a corner store. It's a four story behemoth that combines a full scale supermarket, a Best Buy, a J. C. Penny, and like eight other stores. Pretty much it has everything you'd ever need and plenty of it. But it's the biggest landmark around, and I tell taxi drivers to go there after a night of causing problems downtown. Why don't I just say my street name? Because they don't have street signs in Korea. Yup, they never saw the point. Let that sink in for a minute before I get back to my point. No street signs. Anywhere.

But forget street signs, I've got Lotte Mart that I can tell my cabby. So of course, I say my area "Sang-mu" then my location "Lotte Mart." He shakes his head at me. So I say to him again "Sang-mu Lotte Mart." He looks at me like I'm crazy. I repeat "Sang-mu Lotte Mart." Again, "Sang-mu Lotte Mart." Still nothing. Then I remember I'm in Korea.


"Sang-mu Lotte Mart-UH," I say.

"OOOhhhhhhh. Sang-mu Lotte Mart-uh. Okay, okay," he says.

This is not a joke people. It's been put to the test everywhere from Burger King to electronics shopping. For some reason, the "uh" makes it clear.

As for the "ee" ending, it's just fun. I dig saying words like "sausage-ee and hot dog-ee." I'm sure you can figure out what those words are in English.

I always like to end on a high note. My Uncle Bishy once gave me a piece of wisdom when I ran hurdles in track back in high school. It stuck with me. "Always save a little bit for the end," he said. That's always been some of the most sound advice I've ever gotten, in track and in life. So, I decided to end this blog entry with a discussion of Korean bathrooms.

Oh God are they disgusting. It's not like the floors are covered in excrement or they smell terrible or anything like that. It's the bathroom habits of the Korean men (of course, I can only speak for the men, I hope the women are a little less gross). First of all, there are never any towels stocked in the the dispenser in the bathrooms. But that doesn't really matter because I think nine out of ten Korean businessmen don't bother washing their hands. And I don't blame them. Korea's not a "soap dispenser" kind of place. They've got one of these bars of soap on a metal stick that, despite the fact that it's soap doesn't even look in the ballpark of sanitary. Not to mention Korean businessmen have a nasty habit of smoking butts while sitting on the john. And making strange, inhuman sounds. Between the intense consumption of tobacco and the heroic intake of kim-chi (rotten cabbage), it's just not pleasant to go to the bathroom here.

Though, the urinals may be the funniest thing. Ladies, bear with me here. Men, you know the appropriate distance you should stand away from a urinal. You're not five feet away, but you're not right up against it either. You stand back a bit, not too far, but enough to avoid any contact with said urinal. I'd say you stand relatively close. Koreans don't do relative. They get up against the urinal like they're Velcroed to it.

One time, at an extremely upscale bar that I felt extremely out of place at called Skyy Lounge, it was four AM and I was about to call it a night. I went into the bathroom on my way out and found a dude dressed up real nice, passed out standing up, looking like he was superglued to the urinal. I started to do my business in the urinal next. But I was actually worried about him. He didn't look good. So I built up the courage to ask him in Korean if he was alright. He perked up, turned his head, and still peeing, said, "Oh! You very handsome."

I told him thank you, though the whole situation felt strange. It got way stranger. His friend came in, took one look at me and said, "Ah! Tom Cruise! Tom Cruise! Very handsome." Then he stuck out his hand for me to shake. His right hand. Keep in mind what my hand is holding.

I gave him a puzzled look. "Shake?" I asked.

He nodded. What choice did I have? I shook his hand. Then I brought it back, zipped up, and got the hell out of there. Ran into him again on the elevator on the way. Turned out he was the manger there. He invited me and my party to go out for fish and so-ju with him across town. I stayed out til eight in the morning even though neither of us spoke the other one's language. Classic Korea.

But that's enough of Korea for today. An emotional roller coaster for sure. Every day brings new adventures and oddities, and I dig it, though it's a little exhausting.

And to you cats from home, know how important you are to me. The strangest things make me nostalgic and miss the hell out of home. Skyping with my old roommates from Bigallo Street while they're watching a football game, hearing neighborhood status updates from the Mackinites through email, seeing my little cousins go nuts when I moved my Curious George across the screen on my webcam, a rubber band penguin bracelet, Pez, eating cheese, using the word "rando," watching Paul Pierce hit 20,000 career points through Dave Raymond's laptop in Baltimore, and of course, all the letters, emails, messages, conversations, and insights into my foolishness that you all give me everyday.  People, you know me better than I know myself sometimes. Thank you for all the support. On my worst days, I'm okay being out here because of you.

To all of you, my tenth blog is dedicated to all of you awesome people. Thank you, I mean it when I say I miss and love you all. And if any of you make it out here to visit me, you've been warned. Stay the hell away from the bathrooms.

Peace out,
The Wandering Dan

Post #9

ConFoley say


Hello my drunken Confucianism students! That's right kids, today we'll be talking about perhaps the two most significant parts of Korean culture, Confucianism (with all it's intonations and cultural ramifications) and beer. But don't worry, this isn't going to be a boring analysis of Confucianism. We're talking about the real world applications of this philosophy, how it plays out and what it means to the people here. Plus, if you get bored, there's always the beer part.

But before we get to going, let me hit with a few Korea tidbits to jump start this party.

Me and a few of the teachers were out at a club the other night, sitting at a table, having some drinks. My friend and I were sitting at a table with what I thought to be a cute Korean girl.  My friend seems to be digging her. He's charming her left and right, and then, the next thing I know, he's kissing her. But after a little bit of that, he abruptly stops. He pulls away, leans back, and has this look on his face that something is horribly, horribly wrong. She sticks around for a few more minutes, then leaves. Afterwards, he turns to me and says:

"Foley, did you notice anything weird about her?"


I shake my head no.

He looks at me, disturbed. I press him to tell what happened, and like a scared child, he tells me. "Well, we kissed, and uh, there was something off."

"What?" I asked.

"She didn't have any front teeth," he said flatly. "Like most of the top row was missing."

Now, I'm not one of these guys who needs a girl with perfect teeth but, just saying, that strikes me as a turn off.

And while we're on the subject of physicality, let's talk about losing weight. People, if you're trying to shed some excess poundage, come to Korea. I've lost a cool five or ten pounds out here and put on a little bit of muscle (that's right, ladies). But, if you can't visit this excellent nation, and you're trying to cut those pounds, I recommend eating like the Koreans do. What does that mean? Three things: cutting out the red meat (Korea's all mountains, no grazing room = no cows), switching from bread to rice (trust me, I love sandwiches, but not eating them has made me a healthier boy), and eating ridiculously spicy food. Why spicy food, you ask? It makes you feel fuller than you actually are. Give it a try. You'll see what I mean.

And speaking of food, they have this thing out here called ho-duck. Despite the name, it's neither an insult to women nor is it made out of meat. Ho-duck basically a deep fried pancake dusted with sugar and loaded with a butter cinnamon sauce. It's dirt cheap street food and readily available. Did I mention I love this country?



But I'm trying to keep the theme going, so let's get back to the Confucianism. It has a lot of elements, but the one that stands out the most is the concept of Filial piety, or the respect of the Five Bonds:

• Ruler to Ruled
• Father to Son
• Husband to Wife
• Elder Brother to Younger Brother
• Friend to Friend

Only the last one is an equal bond. The rest, hierarchy. What this means in the real world is that women are below men and age is extremely important in Korea. Ladies, they will ask your age here. It's not considered rude. It's about where you stand with them. It really matters. You have to pay homage to those older than you. In what way, you ask? 

Little things, like the youngest person at the table has to pour the beer from the pitcher in everyone's glasses. Or the oldest brother can boss around his little brothers and sisters and they have to do what he says, just because he's older. And this doesn't just apply to children or drinking. My boss's younger brother (who is in his thirties) isn't allowed to marry anyone until she say's it's cool. She has to approve, or no wedding. That's what's up.


I have a single story that perfectly encompasses this phenomenon. It starts, as all good things dude, after beating on my new friends with a bamboo sword.

My kumdo (Korean sword fighting class) brothers seem to get a kick out of me. They're all older than me, so it means I have to pay them respect. I'm required to call them hyung-nim, which means older brother. And they call me "stupid" because I can't pronounce any of their names. However, they offered, one night, to take me out for mek-ju (beer) and sushi. I graciously accepted with a single thought in mind--these Koreans aren't gonna know what hit them.

Hell, I'm a young America guy, fresh out of college. A group of short, old Korean men can't keep up with the liver of a 22-year-old white giant. How wrong I was.

Learned a lot that night. Learned that so-mek (or the combination of mek-ju (beer) and so-ju (rice liquor) in the same glass) gets you really, really tanked, really, really fast. I heard legends that Koreans, as a country, drink more per person than any other country in the entire world (except for Russia). I don't know whether or not that's true, but my God, they can put them away. I've been sick only once so far in Korea, and it was after that night. On the plus side, raw fish tastes about the same on way up as it does on the way down.


But the social dynamic of sitting at a table with a whole bunch of Koreans, ranging in age from 26 to 53, all friends, taught me a lot about how age and gender matters in the everyday drinking culture of Korea. For instance, women can be openly mocked. And it's perfectly fine. I found this out while some of the kumdo guys were asking me if I liked Korean girls. I asked them, "Is the Pope Catholic?" and we all had a laugh. But this led to what was, for me, a very difficult and awkward position for sure.

One of the fellow kumdo ninjas at the table was nice girl named Heri probably in her mid-twenties. She was a little wider of a girl, but still cute, definitely had a pretty face. The guys decided to pose an interesting question. 

"What do you think of Heri?"

Keep in mind she's sitting right across from me. So I tell the truth. "She's pretty."

My kumdo brothers exploded, yelling out "No! No! No! No pretty! No pretty! Too big! Too big!... etc. etc." She took it in jest (and thanked me) but all I could think was how that would never, ever fly in the States. American girls would go on a shooting spree put in that situation. But this totally flies in Korea. Hell, that's probably why half of the girls out here get plastic surgery, and most of the other half think they need it.

Same deal with another female in my kumdo glass. She's lovely, in great shape, and a nurse. But because she's 31 and unmarried, they call her "old maid." No lie.


Age means everything out here. After crushing the so-mek all night and eating plate after plate of something that resembled General Tso's chicken, we were ready to call it a night. So I reach for my wallet and everyone starts to walk out, and I'm thinking, "No way can I afford this." What I then see is our elder kumdo brother, Gyum-Gi Hyung-nim, walk out from the kitchen after covering the whole tab. Because he's the oldest. There was ten of us out that night. It's just what's expected. He didn't mind, nor did anyone else offer.

And it's not enough that age is super important out here. Just to complicate things, Korean age is different than American age. In America, you start at zero and gain a year at each birthday. It's, you know, based off of logic. In Korea, when you're born, you're one. Then for every year you're alive, you get an extra year. But not year as in the amount of years you have under your belt (i.e. I was born on January 9th, so every January 9th I am one year older), every year you're alive you gain a year. So, if I was born in 1955, and now it's 1956, I've been alive for two years as of January 1st, 1956. So I'm two. I think.

By my math my Korean age is somewhere between twenty-four and sixty-three. I'm still trying to figure it out. So I just tell people I'm 22. That way, I'm the youngest I can be and I dodge covering the tab. I don't mind pouring the beer.

And speaking of beer, if you don't believe the Koreans are serious about their alcoholism, check this out. They decided that American 40's (that's right, I'm talking about the 40oz. beers that are only drunk by homeless men and college students) were just not enough beer. So they have 2 liters of beer here. Or for you non-metric people, 66oz. of liquid. They call it a pitcher. But it's in a bottle. Fantastic.


But if you'll indulge me, I want to end this blog entry on a serious note. Confucianism breeds some very, very good things: respect for the elders, importance of families, and free drinks to us young folk. But they are so unbelievably focused on this idea of the Confucian understanding of social connections that sometimes, things get really messed up.


My example is the Sung Bin Orphanage. I started volunteering there. And before you start patting me on the back for my great deed for humanity, just know it's a two hour a week commitment and I only do it as a feeble attempt to counterbalance all the bad stuff I've done in my life. Sung Bin Orphanage is here in Gwang-ju. I heard they're always looking for volunteers, so I decided to check it out one Saturday. I've been going the last three weeks.

It's a girl's orphanage, with about eighty of the cutest Korean girls you've ever seen, ranging in age from one to eighteen. We don't do a whole lot, just little things like take them to the park on sunny days, or do art projects with them. We just finished a Dr. Seuss mural of "Oh The Places You'll Go." My biggest contribution is my drawings of Simpsons and Garfield style characters that I give to the girls. I'll do a quick sketch and they'll color it in. My only qualm with it is that they color-in Homer's shirt in all hot pink and sky blue and florescent green and it just makes him look like a hippie golfer, which he's never been (although he's been both separately). But they seem happy, so I guess I can let it go. Plus there's this one little girl who played soccer with me for twenty minutes the other day and she can color Homer any way she wants.

But there's a fair amount of western volunteers (all teachers) and high school and college aged Korean girls who help out, try to set a positive role model for the girls. The guy who heads it is this college professor here in Korea, a guy in his fifties who goes by 'Al.' If any of you have ever read my book, he's almost exactly what I picture Jazz to look, sound, and act like. But he warns me, on my first day, how rough things are for these girls. I mean, they have resources and food and so many good people taking care of them. But there's this one little girl, can't be much older than three, that calls him oh-pa (father) and here's her story.

In America, to go to an orphanage, your parents need to be either dead, in prison, or insane. Here, that's not the case. This little girl was born to a married couple. Things didn't work out between Mom and Dad, and so they split. Mom got custody. Picks up the pieces, moves on, and meets another guy. Falls in love. The guy wants to marry her. Things are great. Except, he's not about to raise some other guy's kid. Not his bloodline, he's not interested. And so Mom makes a choice, chooses the man, and now her daughter lives at the orphanage.


That's right, sports fans, in Korea, if you don't want your kid, you can give them up to an orphanage, no questions asked. And this is where Confucianism hits a snag. Bloodline trumps all. Not a lot of stuff gets through to me, but that did.

Say what you will about Americans and about Catholicism and all the imperialism done by both (and trust me, there's plenty of fault to find in both), but those are the two biggest reasons orphanages exist in Korea in the first place. Makes me proud to be both.

And man, you gotta wonder when you see these girls how someone could say no.




But this is not an attack on Korea or Confucianism, two things that, most of the time, I'm really down with. It's just tough, because when you experience things that shake you down to the core of your being, it's tough to remember the good. But there is so much of that too. And when I realize that, I find my peace.


I will leave you with this, a picture of me meditating after kumdo, and a quote from the man himself, Confucius.

  
"I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand."

As always, miss you cats, love you cats. Go do something. Orders from Dr. Confucius. 

-Kumdo Guy