And welcome to Foley in Korea #22. A long time has passed, and there's much that needs to be discussed. For those of you who don't know, I managed to survive the Korean mudslides and flooding, on account of the fact that I was 200 miles away from them. And not only am I survivor, but I'm currently on vacation, which gives me the opportunity to learn you all a little something about this fair land. And we'll start with a little philosophy lesson.
My boss's son (who I've mentioned a number of times before) is four years old and entering that time in a little boy's where he has discovered the most fascinating and annoying question in the English language:
"Why?"
He asks it about everything. "Why do monkeys like bananas?" "Why is the air conditioner broken?" "Why does Daddy look at naked people on the computer?" Now, I know it's cute, and I dig the inquisitiveness, but it's hard to read a book about swans when he averages thirty questions per page (I don't know why swans have white feathers, damn it!). But I have to say, one instance of his curiosity was truly justified.
Instead of peeing all over the place, he's matured to the point where he asks to use the bathroom now. We're all very happy about this. And, seeing as though I have the bladder of a twelve-year-old girl, I usually have to go when he does. So, the other day, we went to the bathroom. There we were, standing, pants around our ankles, in side by side stalls. I'm focused on taking care of my business, when I realize he's looking up at me. Well, looking up at part of me. Then, in a voice full of wonder, he asks:
"Why is yours bigger?"
It is probably the only time anyone will ever ask me that, but that day, the little guy scored major points in my book.
But now, on to bigger, errr...more culturally relevant things.
So, the Korean summer is hot. Like, waking up in a pool of sweat hot. And if there's one thing Koreans are bad at (other than driving), it's insulating apartments. I can leave my air conditioner on for three hours, turn it off, and within minutes my apartment will be a sweltering 88 degrees of thick humidity. So, instead of throwing my money (and cold air) out the window, I opted for a fan. My boss was nice enough to get me one, but upon giving it to me, she gave me an ominous warning:
"Don't leave the fan on with the windows and doors closed."
I looked at her like she was new. What the hell was she talking about?
"Why not?" I ask.
"Every year, a few people die from having fans on them with the windows and doors closed."
Now, I'm trying to wrap my head around this one. At first, I think my boss has lost her damn mind, but after conferring with many Korean friends, this is a legitimate concern in Korea. Their rationale is that "People use up all the oxygen in the room and suffocate." So Korean people are terrified of this phenomenon.
But here's the thing - it defies common sense. Factoring out that extremely poor insulation that would let in fresh oxygen, how would a fan blowing air on you be any different than if it wasn't? It's the same air in the room, whether it's be blasted through moving propellers or not. It just doesn't make any sense. And yet, most Koreans buy into this paranoia.
And sadly, I do too. Logically, I know it's foolishness, but I'd rather be safe then sorry. This place is starting to rub off on me. That's why I don't trim my toenails at night. Bad luck.
But one thing that hasn't rubbed off on me yet is Paris Baguette. Paris Baguette, along with a slew of other Korean bakeries, is the pinnacle of mismatched food. You might be wondering how you can put a terrible Korean twist on a donut, but I promise, it's not hard. The mission statement of said establishment, I gather, is something along the lines of:
"We take a delicious pastry, bake it to perfection, and then throw some weird shit into it, and serve it to you, with a smile on our face."
For those of you who may have missed it, the equation follows Normal Pastry + Nonsense = Korean Delight.
Now, how bad could they mess up a croissant? How about by sticking a room temperature hot dog in there, with room temperature cheese, and salsa. Now, I like all those things, but try to imagine a sweet bun mixed with a salty hot dog and bitter salsa, and then, cheese. Your stomach growling? No? Me neither. Or the never overrated glazed onion crawler. That's right, it's a delectable glazed donut, twisted around and around, and infused with just onion flavor to make you wonder how fast donuts grow mold. Or my personal favorite - what I thought was a powdered jelly donut. Wrong again. Powdered donut on the outside. Shredded steak and pepper on the inside. That one's actually not even that bad, but loses points for false advertising. It's like a really convincing drag queen. The outside looks great but the inside is...well, you get the idea.
And the truly baffling thing about these bakeries is that they don't open til 8 in the morning. Some not til 9. Same with coffee shops. It's like they totally missed the point.
And speaking of missing the point, I sometimes feel this country totally biffs it and I don't understand how it could do the things it does. Other times, I feel like Korea is right on the money, and we could all learn a lesson. Here are two such examples.
I've mentioned plastic surgery before. The statistics speak for themselves. Some studies show that half of Korean girls in their mid-twenties have had some work done. Now. while I'm fervently against it, except in situations of actual physical deformities (burn victims, mangled noses, etc.) I understand that I don't call the shots. If a girl needs a confidence boost and thinks making her eyes (or other parts of her body) bigger will make her happy, can I really stand in the way? No, that would be wrong. (Ironically, as I'm writing this, I'm getting an advertisement in the corner of my screen for liposuction). But there is one thing I have a problem with, and I think I can make a moral claim about.
Parents giving their children plastic surgery. Yep, yep, yeppers. It happens. Is it common? It's starting to be. Some parents reward children for good grades with a trip to the cosmetic surgeon. How young? Some reports say as early as twelve years old. Some say younger (but I cannot confirm those). I don't know the truth, but I do know there is something truly disturbing about this practice. All health issues aside (sculpting faces, eyes, and bones that are not done growing can have devastating results), the social ramifications cannot be ignored.
This advantage of being the prettiest (if you want to call it that) girl in school because of surgery creates a necessity for it. It's like steroids in baseball. If no one's doing steroids, there's no problem. But once some players start doing it, they have an artificial edge that is tough to compensate by normal measures. The result? Steroids become an epidemic. Again, I have serious qualms about plastic surgery in general - but come on, can't we wait til they're eighteen to make their nose look more western?
But, in a twisted way, parents do this out of love. They want their girl to be the most successful, happiest girl they can be. And here, plastic surgery is a plausible means to do just that.
And while that's a bit deranged, let's talk about something good. Language.
Translating Korean into English is sometimes not a direct translation. Sure 버스 (bu-suh) and bus refer to the same moving vehicle that transports people to cheap to buy a car, but translating directly can sometimes be misleading. For instance, Koreans don't have the present perfect in the way we do (I have eaten 25 hot dogs today). Likewise their verb for "have" or "has" is "있어요" (eess-o-yo) meaning more "there is" or "there are." Furthermore, Koreans often leave out pronouns (like "I" or "you") in a sentence because the meaning is implied. And everyone your age is "친구" or "friend" whereas older and younger people are referred to as "older/younger brother/sister," whereas we're more apt to say "that guy" or "my classmate."
The question you're probably asking is, "Why should I care? They have different words. Whoop-dee-do!"
You've got some attitude.
Think about the significance of this. In English, we are more possessive. The idea of "I have done this" mean we "have" an experience. It's ours. I have a girlfriend, I have a monkey, I have something. Whereas, in Korean, you look at things as merely "there." You say "there is a monkey." You are not claiming ownership over said monkey, you are merely stating that it exists. You don't say "I have been bungie jumping" you merely say "bungie jumping happened."
Think of the ramifications of that. The idea of ownership, especially with land (made super important by John Locke, Englishman), has been the foundation for our basic laws in America. Our laws are about "having" rights. This is mine, not yours.
While keeping that in mind, let's go back to the Korean language. They often leave out the ideas of "me" and "you" and call everyone "friend" or "family." It's not "Do you want to eat food with me?" It's "eat food?" Just the idea, nothing more. Or you address them as brother and say, "Hey bro, food is good." This is where I wonder if, perhaps, language causes a rift between us. You take the furiously independent mentality of America - is it always a good thing? Could we benefit from thinking about others as more family, and stop worrying so much about what's mine and what's yours and just worry about what is? Or are my hippie ideas to far out and groovy for you?
And this brings me to Bubble Bar. While I've mentioned it before, I must explain the relevence of this Gwang-ju institution. It's arguably the most international place in Korea, where people from Korea and Persia and Nigeria and India and China and America and Britian and all the silly countries in-between get together to interact in a cesspool of sin. No, it's not hell on earth, but it is notably sketchy and brings out some of Korean society's more colorful and provocative individuals. And what does this international community do in Bubble Bar? Dance...and then fight. Bubble Bar has more fights than anywhere else in Gwang-ju. And sadly, the origins of the fights are frequently tied to race or nationality. You wanna see Egyptians battling with Syrians, blacks versus whites, Koreans against Chinese, and everything in the middle? Look no further.
My friend D is a bartender there. This is a man who, in his tenure in the Korean military, had a landmind blow up in his face. If anyone is prepared to work there, it's him. He talks about the frequency of tournament style brawls in Bubble, where two people will get into an argument. It escalates, and then, throughout the duration of the night, all of their friends will take turns fighting, not at the same time, but through various points throughout the night, until everyones bigotry has been justified.
This bothers me so much because I grew up in the 90's, where every TV show featured the "Burger King Kids Club" ideal (shown below)
Where, some of us are Asian or black or white kids with weird blonde hair and glasses, but we can all get along. There were a million examples of this: Power Rangers, Recess, the brochure for Northfield Mount Hermon (shown below)
But, the more intrinsic differences I see between people, and the way the world is, sometimes I wonder if it's possible for there to exist peace between such varying ideologies, languages, and people. I mean, is this world destined for destruction? Are these ideas of world peace and coexistence and all colors high-fiving and watching the Olympics together just a farce?
I say no. What brings me to this conclusion? The Boryeong Mud Festival. What is a Mud Festival you ask? It's a place where people get covered in mud and...well that's about it. There's mud and mud beer and mudslides and mudmusic and mudwrestling and mudobstaclecourses and mud everything. And what kind of people attended this event? Everyone you could possibly think of. Why? Because everyone has fun together playing in the mud.
This made me realize - what the world needs to get along isn't trying to work out our differences - it's about being united under a common goal, like feeding the world, or curing cancer, or killing aliens, or in this case, mud. Because, when you're covered in mud, no one can tell what race you look like. When you're covered in mud, everyone looks the same....
Like a zombie.
Special points were added to my enjoyment of mudfest when I blasted my friend Krista in the eye with my mud filled Thomas the Tank Engine squirt gun. She was wearing contacts and the mud managed to wedge in between her pupil and the contacts. She cried for ten minutes. I tried not to pee myself laughing.
(Above is moments before I blinded her with my flawless aim).
But aside from that heavy philosophical mumbo jumbo, my friends, I have just two quick announcements, and you can get back to your lives.
1.) I just had to turn down a modeling gig (working all day next Monday) because I have to work. I was going to be in a commercial for a construction company. And if you laugh at that, you're not really my friend.
2.) I'm off to China tomorrow to visit my boy Nick and his girl Tingting. The next Foley in Korea Blog will be focused on Foley in China, which, I know, we're all very excited about.
I miss and love you all. Peace out,
-Mudman
No comments:
Post a Comment