Post #23

Hello...China?

Yes everyone, we all love Korea, but this blog posting will be about my swashbuckling Chinese adventures, featuring Nick Callos and his lovely girlfriend Ting Ting. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

The insanity begins in Korea, where I found myself sleeping alongside homeless men in bus station in Seoul at 2:30 in the morning. I was waiting for the 5:30AM shuttle. I'm not quite sure why they were there, but they were quite friendly. Some largely toothless man asked me for money in the bathroom. I threw him a couple bucks and then struck up a conversation with him in Korean about where I was from. Whether he had the a thick accent or his tongue was swollen with soju, we will never know, but the conversation was a struggle for sure. From what I gathered, he wanted to eat dog with me in Boston. I agreed to it and prayed to God he wouldn't take me up on it.

Upon arriving at the airport, I learned that Expedia thought it would be funny to switch my flight numbers and times on me without the slightest notification (those bastards). Twice I found myself rushing around airports, trying desperately to catch my flight. Once in Seoul, once in Shanghai. I did have just enough time to use the bathroom in Shanghai, though. This is where I will begin my discourse of China.

Toilets fascinate me. They just do. Especially given the sharp divide between the quasi-futuristic super-intelligent toilets of Korea and the "kill-me-now" squatters of China. That's right, they look like this:

 

Only much dirtier.

The rules are a bit different for bathroom etiquette than in the western world. For instance, having toilet paper near squatters is more of a suggestion than a requirement for the Chinese bathroom. And trust me, after consuming a glut of hyper-spicy Chengdu's specialty Sichuan food, you don't want to be caught pants-down without TP. I'm sure you can decipher why.

Another great little element of the Chinese making-water room is that they have little pandas with Chinese idioms poorly translated into English above each urinal. In English it says "Please aim carefully" but according to Nick (whose Chinese makes me ashamed at my Korean skills) the true translation is something along the lines of "One step closer leads to happier bathrooms."

Such idioms are everywhere and make-up the legendary Chinese Propaganda. Yet in English, something is always lost in the translation. For instance, we saw this while hiking a mountain:

Awesome.

This mountain was truly an excursion and the focal point of the trip (it's nice to do things other than get wasted and eat spicy food, though we did a lot of that too). Three hours outside of the bustling, eleven million denizen, metropolis of Chengdu, stood the magnificent and serene Emei Mountain. Truly a spectacle. Our mission? Spend the night in the town beneath the mountain sipping on Tsing-tso beer and wake up at four AM to scale that beast.

The mellow night we had in mind proved to have a few surprises. I need to preface this by saying Chinese people aren't ghouls, trolls, or any sort of mythological creatures, but I'm about to make them out to be. Throats, feet, hearts, lungs, and eyeballs comprise the typical spectrum of Chinese cuisine. When you eat an animal, boy, you eat the whole damn thing. Ting Ting was a big fan of pointing out which part of the animal I was eating in an attempt to make me comfortably disturbed. One thing I couldn't bring myself to eat was the head of a duck. She laughed and used it like a puppet before eating its skin. That girl is all kinds of cool.

I respect the Chinese for this honesty with animals. They serve you rabbit? You better believe it's coming, head and all. In America, everyone loves Porky Pig, but we try to distance ourselves from the fact that we eat his back meat for breakfast. But that's the truth. In this respect, I made it my mission to embrace my honesty with food. After all, if I'm okay eating an animal, I need to be okay with killing it. And, as means of a test, that night, on the mountain, we got a chicken. No, we didn't order KFC. We found a cage, I pointed to it, the guy took out the chicken, and we followed him to the kitchen. We watched the last moments of Mr. Chicken as the chef slit its throat and drain its blood. Below are the pictures, from purchase to slaughter to dinner.

WARNING - SOME MIGHT FIND THESE SOMEWHAT DISTURBING. IT MAY BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO SCROLL DOWN AND NOT VIEW THE NEXT FOUR PICTURES.

It was an excellent meal. I made sure to eat every bite of it, because, well, otherwise, it just seemed wrong. I realized that I don't have a problem killing animals for food, but I have a huge problem with needlessly killing animals, torturing them, or wasting the food you got from them. The way I see it, if you're a hungry cannibal and you kill me and eat me, you better damn well eat every last bit of me.

But aside from that, I didn't consume anything too wacky. The chance just never came up for rabbit head, frogs legs, or cow penis soup (super expensive and supposedly really good for virility, although Asians think almost everything is good for virility).

That night, we killed a couple of beers and went to bed early (12:30 AM). Nick and I had to be perky for hiking early the next day (Ting Ting was too sleepy). So, in an effort to stay hydrated AND copying my genius father, I used my 20oz Tsing-Tso Beer Bottle as a water bottle in my hotel room. Tap water in China is lethal for your digestive system, so I had to be prudent about filling it up at purified water stations. It worked great at first, quenching my thirtst, until that night. Fumbling for the light switch in the bathroom, I knocked over the beer bottle, shattering it on the floor. Instantly, my foot felt strange. I proceeded to turn on the lights. Watching blood spurting (yes, spurting) from your foot in a Chinese bathroom at 2:00 AM is definitely one for the record books. I hobbled around, trying to wash out the wound. Finally, I got the frustrated hotel owner to give me a couple band-aids for my wound. The Chinese are great people, but not known for their sympathy..

Emei Mountain is famous as it contains a massive Buddhist Temple at its zenith. On one hand, the climb is easy because it's all stairs. On the other hand, there's no way can 5,000 steps ever be considered easy. To get up past the monkey0filled (no joke) lower mountain, we paid a guy to drive us up.If you'd think that leaving at 4:21 in the morning is early enough to make a two hour climb by sunrise, you'd be wrong. This mountain was so crowded, we didn't even start to climb the mountain til well after sunrise.

The climb itself was gorgeous. Turns out, Nick and I were too, because we got more stares, "hello's," and people requesting photo opts with us than I'd ever experienced in Korea. We had a good sweat going by the top, but man, it was worth it...except that we could have paid two Sherpas to carry us up, like this lovely woman did.

Atop the Golden Sumit is the Giant Buddah. It stands at over 150 feet (48 meters) tall and inside, there's a Buddhist Temple. And all around the Golden Summit, you can look over the jaw dropping mountainous terrain, shrouded in clouds, that truly, pictrues cannot do justice (but I took some anyways).

Then after witnessing heaven, I proceeded to hell. The bus ride down the mountain. In a previous blog post, I mentioned how Koreans are terrible drivers. Since then, I have been enlightened. Chinese people obey traffic laws like the Koreans obey copyright laws. If that was too obscure, Chinese drivers are freakishly bad. Allow me to supplement this blatant racism with some concrete evidence.

On the way home from the airport, I thought it was bad when we were weaving between bicycles and people crossing the street without using signals and cutting off fellow automobiles just for the hell of it. But the bus ride down the mountain would make James Bond lose his bowel control. Our bus driver was gunning it downhill a two lane road (one lane going up the mountain, one going down) with no breakdown lane. About every twenty seconds, there was a hairpin turn that he whipped around like it was Chengdu Drift: Bus Edition. Now, normally, that would be bad. But what added to the choking absurdity of this ride was that motorists constantly passed each other. On the straightaways? Heeeellllllllllllllllllllllll no! On the blind hairpin turns. How could they possibly do this safely? By beeping their horn at every turn as a warning.

Now you might be saying to yourself, "Dan, if they beep, it's totally safe. The other cars will know to slow down" Why are you always wrong? Think about this situation: When people going up are passing and people going down are passing. They both decide to beep for safety. Can the cars hear each other? Of course not. They're too busy beeping. And some people just don't give a shit. I need to make clear to you how much I am not exaggerating this. There was at least one time I was certain we were going to smash a blue sedan off the side of the mountain. The mortality rate on that mountain...well you get the idea..

The important thing is: we survived. Thank. God.

Now here's some fun facts about China.

• In a restaurant, when you have trash (dirty napkins, food bones) it's customary to just throw them on the floor. It's so awesome and lazy at the same time it's worth the trip just to do it. 

•  Poor parents sometimes make their children go out and sell flowers in the middle of the night (i.e. beg). A definitively disturbing practice that puts you in the ambiguous ethical situation of whether or not you should give money to them. On one hand, their parents might beat them if they don't bring home money. On the other hand, giving money sustains this practice. It's tough to know what to do.

• Sichuan area (where Chengdu is) is furiously serious about their spice. Things like hotpot, shown below, are what you get when you combine a buffet of uncooked things, a pot of super hot flavored oil, and of course, Sichuan Peppers (aka Chinese Numbing Peppers). For those of you who don't know, this is the stuff they would use before Novocaine was kicking around. A couple years back, Nick brought a bag of Sichuan Peppers to our place on Foster Street. Of course we all popped in about five or six after consuming a fair amount of booze. A truly interesting experience - when you eat them, you can't feel anything in your mouth (except an unholy empty tingling) and you drool like a madman. Sounds crazy, but in food, man, are they tasty.

 

• The Chinese money (RMB) is on the up and up, so prices are rising all around China. Nick was complaining about how the price of a 20oz beer rose from 2.5 quai to a bank-breaking 3.5 quai. For reference, 6.1 quai is about a dollar, so he was bitching about a 20oz beer costing about 58 cents. Upon hearing this, I beat him with a bamboo stick.

For me, one of the most interesting parts of China was how much it defies the stereotypes. Like, for example, how uncommunist it was. If anything, people there are very concerned with money. And the divide between rich and poor is staggering. Beautiful high rise apartments for Lamborghini-totting families are right across from the guy who works 60 hours a week as a waiter for pennies.

Speaking of defying stereotypes, Ting Ting's parents took us out for dinner one night. Amazing people, Buddhists, very welcoming. And oh man could her dad drink. But what was the dinner time conversation about?

Politics.

Wait a minute...something's not right. I thought people were cut up into little pieces and put in the hot dogs for talking politics in China. Is this a set-up?

It's more complicated than that. The Chinese aren't stupid. They understand that there's a lot of propaganda and that their government lies to them. They likewise make the point that America isn't all that different in those respects. But the way it works in China is, as long as they're not talking about tearing down the government and replacing it with democracy, they're more or less free to talk about what they want, as long as it's the right crowd. China isn't the Big Brother Thought Police from 1984. Hell, they don't even block Wikipedia, even though they probably could.

Nick once told me about a conversation he had about freedom of speech with a smart Chinese friend of his.

Nick asked the man: "Don't you want to be free?"

The guy responded: "Free? How am I not free? I live where I want, work where I want, eat what I want, and marry who I want. You want me to complain?"

Interesting viewpoint. Not sure I see completely eye-to-eye with it, but it does make you think.

Speaking of the Chinese government, they have one of the only economies that is actually doing well. And they are sustaining it. Sure they do some illegal things like price adjusting, but at the end of the day, even with 1.4 billion people, they have less malnutrition then America. Seriously, you don't see homeless people. People don't complain about working all the time and everyone eats. It's not some wacky third world country. Though the driving still blows

So that's what I got out of China this time. Sorry, no one tried to drug me this time, and no bar fights. But I think it was even better this time. It's truly an awesome place, though I think Korea was definitely the right choice for me. Why? I'm not quite sure. But it's all good. The more I travel, the more I see how awesome this world is. And everywhere I go, I meet really cool people, and furthermore, see really good families. Ting Ting's family is the same kind of good family as I see in Korea, or as I see in America, or anywhere. Good families like to eat good food, have good conversation, be good to one another, and every so often (or all the time) drink some good drink.

A special thanks to my awesome hosts, and to Chinese people for making some kick-ass food. Next time, more on Korea, but until then, my friends, I miss and love you all.

-Chinese Democracy

P.S. If a certain Cincinnati expat living in Chengdu tells you it's safe to wash fruit in unpurified Chinese water, (you know, that it won't turn your intestines into an amusement park for the next week) do me a favor. Punch him in the throat.

Post #22

Hello Philosophers,

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.

Good CNN video here http://cnn.com/video/?/video/world/2011/05/23/lah.skorea.plastic.surgery.cnn about a twelve year old girl who got plastic surgery. Very interesting stuff.

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

Post #21

Hello My Filthy Feet Readers,

Long time, no see. Much to discuss. My hiatus has been largely due to the fascist GRE’s and their inexorable vocabulary word bank (on the plus side, I now know a bunch of words that I will never, ever use). But all that’s over and we can get down to the best part of life: inflicting severe pain on loved ones on their wedding night.

Some Korean traditions are based in history, others in culture or religion, but this one is sheerly about fun. Or masochism. Whatever floats your boat. According to Korean culture, on the night of his entrance into matrimony, the man’s feet must be cleaned. While this sounds like the set up to a dirty joke your alcoholic uncle would tell you, I assure you, it’s something much, much more awesome.

The official English word for it is “bastinado,” the practice of beating someone’s feet to cause pain, often an effective torture technique (because it leaves little bruising). This is known as “cleaning the feet” in Korea, whereas people pay the groom money in order to get a good whack in on the feet. The more money you pay, the more pain you get to give him. Spend a dollar (cheon won), you can slap his feet with your hand. Throw down twenty bones (e-man won) you can use something that resembles a wooden cane. And while it’s undoubtedly hilarious, it’s slowly being phased out, mainly because in rare cases it causes broken bones and even death. However, those still brave and stupid enough love the practice.

Seen HERE:

Also as a side note, one website I went to claims the traditional tool in which to beat them with is “Dried Yellow Corvina.” For those of you who were as baffled as I was, do a Google search. Yup, that’s right. Tradition states beating feet with dried fish meat. Oh yeah. Bring on the fishy fun.

Speaking of food, it turns out no one knows what the hell Chinese food is. Now I’ve eaten Chinese food in America, Korea, and China (where of course, they just call it food) and no one can agree as to what Chinese food is. In America, as we all know, it’s usually fried. Often it’s saturated delicious in sauce, moderate on spice, and comes with a cookie at the end with either profound advice or something along the lines of “you like Chinese food” (God, I hate that fortune). The Korean’s go-to Chinese dish is call ja-jal-mein, which is a combination of potatoes, meat, and vegetables, in a salty black sauce that has the consistency of sludge, served over noodles. Think Beef Stroganoff, and then make it Koreany. And then, in my trip to China a year ago, I saw food that resembled none of the above. What I found were super oily, super spicy dishes, featuring strange animals and ineffable flavors.

But, my general consensus is that, while no one really can say what Chinese food is, no matter where you go, it’s the bee’s knees.

Now, I’m not one to hate on religion. But if there’s one thing about this country that I just can’t stand , it’s all those damn Buddhists.

Just kidding. How could you not love Buddha?


But there is one group that angers me. Let me paint you an all too common picture to the foreigners of this fair land. You’re somewhere public, a park on a beautiful sunny day, or chilling on the beach, trying to add a shred of color to that pasty white skin, when all of a sudden, a smoking hot Korean girl runs up to you and says, “Hello!” Now, if you’re me, this is not an uncommon situation, because, well, I mean, we’ve all seen me. But this could happen to anyone, even those of us who aren’t potential models (though that modeling agency still hasn’t called me back....). Regardless, it seems like a little slice of heaven - nice location, super hotty girl starts talking to you in perfect English, so you’re apt to pay attention.

But, often times, the conversation goes down like this:

SUPER HOT BABE: “Hello!”

FOREIGN DUDE: “Well hello to you...”(I know that sounded smooth, I know it did!)

SUPER HOT BABE: “What are you up to?”

FOREIGN DUDE: “Just enjoying the weather.”(and trying like hell not to mess this up...)

SUPER HOT BABE: “Do you want to play together for a little while?”

FOREIGN DUDE: “Play? Sure! I LOVE playing!”(easy tiger, relax, don’t scare her off...)

SUPER HOT BABE: “Can we talk?”

FOREIGN DUDE: “Yeah! We can talk about anything!”(especially if it involves marrying you!)

SUPER HOT BABE: “Great! Let’s talk about if you’ve accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior!”

FOREIGN DUDE: “Damn....” (Jehovah’s...)

Yes, ladies and germs, Jehovah’s Witnesses in Korea are a far more evolved state of the religion. No, they don’t need to go to your door. They can attack with their pamphlets in a much more seductive vehicle: hotties. And my God, I don’t know where they went to school, but their English is flawless. I gotta give them credit, their methods are improving.





And speaking of religion, the Korean word for pockets is “ju-mon-ee.” Say it slow. Ah, the anti-Semitism. 

In other news, my kumdo (sword fighting) skills are developing nicely. For any of you familiar with the video game genre RPG (Role-Playing-Game), it kind of resembles that. Each time I go, I gain experience. I learn new attacks, new defense moves. I can string along combination attacks now, fake attacks, and can even do this gnarly thing where I cut at the wrists to get the person to raise their hands up, thus revealing their torso, and then slice them in half across the waist, finishing with only one hand on the sword. Badass. I’m getting faster, stronger, and above all, smarter with my kumdo. And the best part is, when I do well, my master (fellow gamers, get ready) looks at me, gives me the thumbs up, and says “LEVEL UP!”

I’m not joking.

   
If I keep up my skills and my progress, I can become a black belt before I leave in November. Ninja progress.

But I’m not all jokes today. Long overdue is my explanation of 5/18, a day recently celebrated in Korea. In a previous post I mentioned it, but I did not quite understand what it was at that time.

It is neither Independence Day nor Patriots Day, yet there is some of both of those in it. 5/18 commemorates May 18th, 1980, in my fair city of Gwang-ju. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In the aftermath of the Korean War, the country was struggling. Things with the North were bad (surprise) but the real problems the South faced came from within their own country. Struggling between a democracy and a military dictatorship came to a head when the President Park-Chung-hee was assassinated in a coup, masterminded by General Chun Doo-hwan and Roe Tae-Woo in 1979. The result? Martial law. Lock-downs everywhere. Chun Doo-hwan took over and made sure he was calling the shots.

Meanwhile, the Jeolla region (where Gwangju is located) was enraged. Jelloa citizens, especially those of Gwangju, are known for two things: food and political activism. The extremely fertile region makes the people generous and well fed, and likewise gives them that political “don’t tread on me” attitude. This came into severe conflict over the eighteen years when Park-Chung-hee was in power. During his presidency, he made a point to slight the Jeolla people whenever he got a chance. And now, in the months following his assassination, things didn’t get better, they got worse. So the university students, in the ensuing months, took to the streets, protesting for their God-given rights to freedom.

Chun Doo-hwan was not having any of this. Gwangju was the thorn in his dictatorial paw, especially because it was the home to the well-loved Kim Dae-Jung, who was on the forefront of the Korean liberation movement. Arrests were made, including Kim Dae-Jung (who later managed to escape and flee the country) and universities were shut down. Paratroopers were stationed to ensure order in the grotesquely titled “Operation Fantastic Vacation.” Chun Doo-hwan thought he had licked the Gwangju people. They were just getting started.

On May 18th, a standoff between the protesters, now in the hundreds, and the paratroopers reached a breaking point. The soldiers attacked the protesters with clubs, the students fought back with rocks. The tension rose when a deaf man was killed by paratroopers, resulting in thousands of protestors flooding the streets.

Over the next three days, Gwangju was transformed. As more and more soldiers poured into the streets, the community united. Over ten thousand began protesting, trying to relinquish the army’s stranglehold of Jeolla. When the paratroopers began firing on citizens, they fought back. Many police sided with the protesters, and the stations that didn’t were raided for guns and ammunition. Buses and taxis attempted to form a barricade in the city. A civil war had begun.

In response, Chun Doo-hwan cut of the city’s communication. No phones. No mail. No communication with the outside world. Foreign reporters who tried to cover the story were shot at by military personnel. The government’s “official" reports claimed unsubstantiated riots in Gwangju, where civilians were brutally killing military officials for no reason. And that’s exactly what the world heard. Jeolla province was alone.

Learning about what happened next filled me with a multitude of feelings. I was likewise appaulled and moved, I lamented and rejoiced the events of May, 1980. Visiting the national monument, witnessing the history, the museum, the documentary, I found myself overwrought at four revelations: one about country, one about people, one about battle, and one about truth.

About country: Learning of 5/18 filled me with a profound shame. Why shame? Why should I feel bad? Chun Doo-hwan may have been in charge of Korea, but he answered to a higher authority: the United States. Following the Korean War, America kept Korea on a tight leash. But, fearing another anti-American uprising, the U.S.A. not only sanctioned Chun Doo-hwan’s siege of Gwangju, we told them how to do it. The strategy for eradicating freedom in South Korea came from the minds of the American government. We even gave it the gut-wrenching name Operation Fantastic Vacation. America had the final say in what went down, and we sided with the Chun Doo-hwan’s malevolent force.

About people: While Chun Doo-hwan’s army were documented as having brutalized and tortured the people (including throwing bound naked people into farms of red ants), many of his men didn’t want to be there. Some were even from Gwangju. Despite the constant fighting, many allowed doctors and nurses to take the wounded into hospitals to treat them. They were not some great evil, though perhaps their leader was.

Perhaps even more amazing were the denizens of Gwangju, and what they created: The People’s Liberation Army. Composed mostly of university students and other young people, they ruled Jeolla for the ensuing week. But yet, in the absence of government, there was no chaos. Not a single bank was looted, no stores were broken into. Rather, the whole city came together. People came into the streets in numbers that are estimated in the hundred thousands. Despite the economic noose on Jeolla, restaurants, grocery stores, and old women gave what food they had at no cost to the People’s Liberation Army. Citizens lined up to donate blood. There were speeches and rallies where people spoke of great hope for democracy. And the People’s Liberation Army was hailed as heroes everywhere they went in Jeolla. They demanded no power, only peace and community.

About battle: After the week of skirmishes and the rule of the People’s Liberation Army, the uprising was extirpated. Rebels were imprisoned or killed and the city fell. The full force of the Korean Army proved to be too much. Chun Doo-hwan assumed power, and soon became president. The national monument is home to the graves of over a hundred people who gave their lives that day, but the true monument, nearby, has the real numbers. The Gwangju People’s Monument, as it’s called, contains a graveyard where the casualties number in the thousands.

About truth: How can we celebrate an uprising that was defeated? Because Korea is a hallmark example of the power of truth. Over the years following, the country’s trust in Chun Doo-hwan diminished. Slowly, truth was revealed. The people demanded a freely elected government, and the hero of freedom, Kim Dae-jung, was elected president some decade and a half later. Most Koreans hail him as the greatest president they’ve ever had. In 1996, he put Chun Doo-hwan on trial for war crimes. In 2000, he was given the Nobel Peace Prize.

What I find so amazing about all this is that it happened only thirty-one years ago. People close to me experienced so many of these things. My friend’s mother was shot at on the street. My Korean teacher remembers the old women handing out rice cakes and cheering on the People’s Liberation Army. My priest’s best friend was killed in the uprising and was perhaps the largest factor in his ordination. And yet, from that point, Korea has gone over an economic boom whose speed unrivaled by any other country in the history of the world.

Hope I didn’t make the mood too heavy for you, my reader. I’ll leave you on that. I miss and love you all.

-Heavy Guy

Post #20

My Fellow Adonises,

Welcome to Foley in Korean Blog #20. What I love most about this country is the absurd situations I find myself in. Why do I have such strange luck? Well, being a tall, goofy, and abundantly handsome white guy, I believe I have a target on my head in this land. But, perhaps venturing out to Seoul the other day to take the GRE's was the first time I understood the immensity of this target. I was stopped by a woman on the street who owned a hostel. After a brief exchange of Korean and English, I understood what she wanted. She was asking me to join her modeling company.

Now, I know most of you are sitting there saying "Finally!" but people, it's not as easy as it looks. Keeping up this rugged masculinity is a careful and delicate process. And I had to truly bring my "A" game the next day. Why, you ask?.With the help of my friend (and now agent) Krista, I had to spend the morning taking head shots in my bathroom, showing off my man pretty.

Ladies, contain yourselves.

But while this was surely a long time coming, so many questions remain: Is the confused young man above going to be the future face of Korea underwear billboards? Will Dan Foley enter the world of Korean soap operas as the "token white guy?" Will fame expand my already stadium sized ego? And of course, was this lady credible, or just some drunken grandma who likes white people a little too much? Only time will tell. 

But my journeys don't end there, no, no no no. Last Sunday, with my visual artist friend Don Kyu and foreigners friends Jason and Krista, I ventured off to the South of South Korea, to the F-1 Racing Town of Young-am. There we boozed it with the Mayor for town's annual birthday party. It took place in an indoor stadium, with music, dancing, and prizes, and rice. A good portion of the town's population had gathered there that day, leading me to believe the average age of the people of Young-am is somewhere around 136-years-old. But trying to understand them was the real treat.

You know how, in America, we have so many regional accents? Like the zest New Orleans tongue, the grizzled Boston accent, the lazy Southern drawl, and of course, the ear-splitting Long Island/Jersey butchering of the English language (eg. "I'd like to eat some saaaawwwwsidge" [sausage]). Well, Korea's got the same thing going on. People from Gwang-ju sound different than people from Busan who sound different from people of Jeju who sound different than people from Seoul (the Seoul accent is what I like to call "News Reporter Accent" or, just the standard Korean). No problem, right? Wrong.

See, it's more complicated out here, and it still doesn't make perfect sense to me. Yes, I get it, regions develop different accents, just like in America or Britain. But in Korea, there are two things I find unsettling. The first is that no one can understand each other. While at the Young-am birthday party, one of the residents came up to me (most likely to show me his battle scars from World War I) and I couldn't understand a damn word he was saying. At first, I thought it was just my elementary Korean language skills, so I turned to Don Kyu and asked him to translate. He told me he would have, but he didn't know what the hell the guy was saying either. Not as in, he wasn't paying attention, he literally had no idea.

Now, this is strange to me, because, as much as I want to put everyone on the Jersey Shore through a wood chipper when they speak, I can still understand them. But that's not the case here. Which leads me to the second unsettling point. Korea is half the size of New England, or roughly 38.5 times smaller than the United States. And yet, the regional dialects between two place fifty miles away are so diverse they are almost unintelligible. Truly baffling stuff.

But while in the area, we got to visit the coast, eat some cheeseburgers, and most importantly visit a Buddhist Temple. There, in another incredible moment of "is this real?" I sat with my friends, the Mayor and his wife, as a charismatic Buddhist Monk shared his rare forty-year-old tea with us.

Weird, wild, excellent stuff. Also, with the interweaving of English and Korean I was able to establish that the monk had visited Boston. He was under the impression everyone in Boston was involved with the mafia. I didn't bother to correct him.


But my life out here isn't all sexy modeling adventures with monks. I also teach. And I hate to be that super corny "kids say the darndest things" but really, they say some funny-ass stuff. Like the other day, I asked my student, John,"If you could be any animal, what animal would he be?"

He responded. "A Polar Bear!"

When I asked why,  he said. "Because they're strong, they have white fur, and they drink Coca Cola."

Flawless victory.

Or take my rowdy middle school class.They were recently bombarded with the unholy bale of Korean Middle School Midterm Tests. Some of these middle school students studied more for these tests than I've ever studied for all of my finals put together. What does this translate to? Beautiful spring weekends locked inside their rooms, alternating between studying and crying, and periodically emerging for a piece of kimchi.

So, I figured I'd go easy on them and not give them homework for a couple of weeks until their tests were finished. It was great for them, but it meant I had to think of other, educational ways to fill a fifty minute class. After much deliberation, I just decided to hit them with a bunch of riddles and "would you rather" questions for the entirety of class period. This was pretty hit or miss, but one would you rather question nearly stumped the class. I gave them the old: "Would you rather marry a smoking hot man/woman who was totally manipulative and selfish, or someone who was the epitome of benevolence, but physically, a total dog?"

It's uncanny how people universally struggle with this question. The class went back and forth, weighing the pros and cons, until my student, John, (different student, same name) threw down the gauntlet

"I would take the kind woman," he said.

I asked why. He responded "If she is that caring, then I will love her. And if I love her, she will be beautiful to me."

He totally kicked that question's ass. And ladies, he'll be legal to date in like three years. Just saying.

But all my students aren't clever romantics. Sometimes, they're a super uphill battle. Like my boss's son, Subok. Methinks I've mentioned him before:

       
Cute, yes. But that's just his front. I spend half an hour every day reading stories with him. Sometimes he's down to read like a fiend. Usually, though, this is not the case. Quickly, reading class succumbs to a battle of wits with a four-year-old who pretends to be tired or sick to get out of reading (keep in mind, minutes before he'll be running down the hallways screaming something about Thomas the Tank Engine). But, usually the promise of popcorn at the end of class keeps him going.

I mention him because of his new hobby: peeing on everything. Why does he have this hobby? The little dude just hates waiting to urinate. How prolific is his pissing? Let me put it this way. If he has to go, no matter where he is, he'll go.He'll just whip off his pants and bleed the lizard into the most geographically convenient object, whether that be a flowering plant, his toy box, or his favorite student's leg (that was a truly epic Number 1). And, I got to hand it to him, I'm a little jealous. You only get away with that stuff when you're really young or really old, so I say, keep on peeing, you crazy diamond.

The last thing I want to mention is on the subject of names. Shakespeare said "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Koreans have taken that to heart, because changing names here is not a difficult task. I told you my boss's son is named "Subok" but evidently before that, he was something else, and now, he's going by "Shimu (not to be confused with the killer whale." Why did he change his name? The only reason I can come up with is that Subok sounds a lot like the Korean word for watermelon, and no one wants to be called watermelon.

But what is truly amazing is the frequency in which some of my students and faculty get bored with their English name and decide to switch it. I had a girl who changed her name three times in one week, from "Jenny" to "Emily" to "the Artist Formally Known as Emily."

But not all names are so whimsical. My main man Alex Kim, in return for naming him, has given me a Korean name. He even made me a "Korean Birth Certificate" which is one of the most moving things anyone has ever done for me. And you can read it yourself. From now on, I will be known as:

Truly one of the greatest honors I have received.

But enough about me. To all you mothers out there (especially mine), Happy Mother's Day. And to all of you Buddhists, Happy Buddha's Birthday. My friends and family, I miss and love you all.

-김단희 (Kim Dan Hui)

Post #19

Hello Irradiated Friends,

You know, after so many near-death experiences (being electrocuted, kidney surgery, falling from varying heights) few things surprise or scare me anymore. But, upon arriving to school the other day on a gray and drizzly afternoon, one of my students asked me a devastating question:

"Where's your umbrella?"

A pit grew in my stomach. Why, gentle reader? Because that's when I remembered the warning issued the previous day:

"Nuclear Rain Expected Thursday." Holy crap on a stick.

So, it turns out, with all the problems Japan has been having lately, some of the radiation drifted its way out west, to my neck of the woods. Now, because of the language barrier and the fact that I live alone, I was oblivious to the panic that had set off in all over Korea. And on this fateful day, I had forgotten my radiated rain shield (i.e. my umbrella). Some of you may be thinking, "Isn't it just natural to bring an umbrella when it's raining outside?" To you I say, you clearly don't know me. I have a hard enough time remembering to wear pants when I leave the house so I know I'm bound to lose an umbrella. Luckily, though, it turns out no health risk was posed by the acid rain. However, that didn't stop several elite and freakishly overprotective Korean academies from closing. Mine was not in the aforementioned.

Despite the fact that I don't know enough Korean to have a conversation about radioactive rain (and its potential to turn me into a superhero), my Korean has dramatically improved. Is it good? Hell no. But I know enough to describe my weekend adventures now, and if I don't know how to say something, I can usually fake my way through it. I owe all of this to my Korean lessons, which I'm taking twice a week. And even though I'm studying like mad, for the first time in my life, I'm the dumbest kid in my class. Which, I've gotta say, is quite a rush.

And where do I most commonly use my new found Korean knowledge? Drunken conversations with cabbies. Man, I dig the taxi drivers out here. Just smooth, easy conversations talking about Korea, America, family, girls, food, traveling, etc. And to all of you who remember taking Spanish (or French) I and II, you'll remember that this is the stuff you learn - it's easy but you use it more than anything else. And I love being able to carry on a conversation. However, it has led me to an interesting revelation..

You see, when surrounded by people who speak in a different tongue and signs that look like squiggles, there is something very romantic and mystical about it. You wonder what lies behind closed doors. You are perplexed by the strange food and drink you have ordered. You ponder at what wisdom is encrypted in  stone inscriptions. But once you start to learn the language, the magic fades a bit. You learn that behind those closed doors are "sleazy bars" and "massage parlors" the strange food is "pork" and the strange drink is "milk" and the sagacious signs read "This is a park."

Same goes with the people. You may imagine the Koreans before you are discussing the nature of being, or the origins of the universe. But, it turns out, Koreans are just like everyone else. Especially the cab drivers. There are some normal dudes, and then, there are the scumbags. I met a old man in a cab that could only be described as "filthy." Sure, the conversation was entertaining, but hearing his laundry list of the women of the world he has...been acquainted with, makes me wonder if learning a language was really such a good idea.

But teaching a language sure was. Being a teacher is awesome, but problematic because sometimes my maturity level is that of a five year old. So I'm struggling to not succumb to the maturity level of my students, but as I said, it's a struggle.

Like when my student David, is asked to describe Laurie, a homemaker in a book, David says "She doesn't have a job."

To which, another one of my students responds, "You mean like your Mom?"

These are the times I have to fight the urge to high-five him for such a worthy burn. But instead I have to punish him for his clever quip. It goes against everything I believe.

But one thing I haven't given up belief in is trying new foods. And this week's featured item is (that's right, you guessed it) spicy chicken feet.

Spiciest thing I've had out here? Oh yeah. One of my kumdo buddies hooked me up with a free meal at his Korean BBQ restaurant, in which he specializes at making boneless deep fried chicken feet known as 닭발 (dulk-bal). Not only are these bad boys a delicious crunchy treat that taste like something out of New Orleans, but they're saturated with insanely hot peppers that can only be found deep in the jungles of a Vietnamese Leper Colony. I highly recommend them to the fearless and foolish. 

But not all the restaurant owners out here are so good-natured. Some border on the brink of stalker. There is a pizza guy, he sells five dollar pizzas in my neighborhood. Calling him creepy would be a profound understatement. I spoke of him in a long ago blog post, talked about how he has the tenancy to pause for seconds at a time and then explode into freakish, hyena laughter for no reason. Regardless, every time I see him, he harasses me. His beef is that me and my friend Andrew (who is now in America) have not been going to his restaurant. When I try to explain to him that I am busy, he starts using this one Korean word that I don't understand. He says it over and over and I still wasn't getting it. He starts stamping his feet and saying it. I'm at a loss. He takes out his pocket dictionary. There, on the page, is one word.

"Betrayal."

And if you think he was being funny, you should have seen the expression on his face. It looked as cold as Siberia. I think I'm getting a restraining order.

But as the scene in Gwang-ju sometimes gets a little played out (and I sometimes fear for my life from evil pizzamen), last weekend I decided to spread my wings and take a trip to Seoul. For those of you who don't remember, Seoul is the mega-city capital of Korea, boasting 24 million people in the greater Seoul area. I ventured off at six in the morning, hung over on two hours of sleep, to this bustling metropolis, with four mission objectives in mind.

The first was to see my old friend Rachel, from middle school. Having not seen her in over four years, it brought me back. Talking with another Greenfield native halfway around the world was definitely worth the uncomfortable three hour trip on the much overrated KTX train (I mean, sure it's fast, but where's the leg room?).

We met for breakfast in Itaewon. Itaewon is Seoul's American equivalent to New York's Chinatown. You want some Taco Bell (Taco-Beezy)? Oh, they've got it. You want to go to a make-your-own-T-shirt store? Go for it. Or how about do what I did, and get an authentic America style breakfast of pancakes, syrup, bacon, eggs, well made, no weird Korean twists. That sat real nice. And it was great to catch up with an old friend.

Second objective was to meet with my Eunice, who was such a big help getting me this gig. There, I saw the G20 Summit Ball. Never heard of it before? Me neither. But this one Korean gentleman had no problem posing for me in front of it.

Third was the Korean Palaces. Absolutely beautiful, from way back when Korea was all about the kings and queens. After going to the museum and seeing the palace, with my "tour-guide" Jasmine, I got a good taste of Korean history. Long story short - I understand why there are so many dramas about the Korean kings and queens. Because you can't make up the kind of stuff that happened to them. We're talking stories of betrayal, seduction, assassination, revolution. I believe a good chunk of my next blog will be devoted to such stories, so please, stay tuned.

(Great picture of myself, Jasmine, the palaces, and creepy guy who wanted in on the picture stage left)

Fourth and final was a trip to Dos Tacos, the hailed "best Mexican food in Korea." My verdict: 6 out of 10. Decent chimichangas, and the tacos had some good seasoning, but the quesadillas and nachos left a lot to be desired. My theory - Koreans just don't get cheese. They don't understand it. Maybe someday, they will. So people, if you're out there in America, and you can swing by Anna's or Chipolte or any solid Mexican style establishment, do it. For those of us who can't enjoy.
     
But, on a closing note, learning Korean has opened all sorts of doors for me. Plus, it's taught all sorts of strange, beautiful thing things. Like the other day, one of my Korean lady friends was touching my arm hair and saying "Gay, gay, gay!"

This evoked my immature seventh grade boy defense tactic of responding with "You're gay!" in a very confused voice.

Turns out, 'gay' is the Korean word for dog. I feel it's a fairly accurate description for both my personality and furriness. And hey, I love dogs (enough to not eat one out here.......yet.)

But that's it for me. Hope all is well my family and friends. I miss and love you all.

Gay Dan

Post #18

You May Say I'm a Dreamer...

But Koreans say I'm freakishly lucky. Why's that? Well, the other night, I had a dream that I was hit by a barrage of Hyundai cars. Now, it's not surprising that I had this dream, seeing as though Korea is rumored to have more pedestrian car accidents than any other country (I can't actually back that up with statistics, but it's gotta be true). But, what is surprising about this dream is that, according to Korean folklore, if you have a dream in which you spill your blood and guts everywhere, it's good luck. Does it make any sense? Not to me, but I've never been one to question a good omen. Another great tip I got is that buying a Korean girl shoes is a huge mistake, as doing so will make them run away from you. Clever and, by many personal accounts, true.

Which just goes to show what a truly different set of traditions and cultural norms exist here. Like, Koreans don't "hang out." There is no such notion of that. No matter what your age, the translation isn't "let's go chill" or "let's spend time together." The direct translation (and what many Koreans say in English) is "let's play together." I've adopted this in my own speech, because, let's be honest with ourselves, who doesn't love to play? It's somehow more innocent and more fun to "play" than "hang out."

But the one cultural norm I find particularly interesting is that of meeting a girl's parents out here. This is a HUGE deal. I don't believe I can overstate that. Meeting parents means marriage. Well, at least to the potential bride. But before she can But at that point, the man is put to the test by the parents. And failing said test means no marriage. No, this isn't America. You can't just give the middle finger to your parents and ride off into the sunset with your lover blasting Jay Z. If the Korean parents forbid the marriage, end of the line. I have heard countless stories out here of happy relationships that parents put the kim-chi kibosh on. And even if the kids think it's unfair, it don't matter. They oblige. But the test is multifaceted, with one very interesting twist.

Aside from the normal "is this guy a scumbag/deadbeat/fool" kind of tests that parents universally submit their potential son-in-laws to, Korea has one unique one. Your girl's papa is supposed to take you out and get you ape-dookie drunk. I'm talking three-sheets to the wind, annihilated, pissing in the middle of a street with heavy traffic sloshed. The way it goes down is this: You go out. He buys a bottle of soju. He offers you a shot of the noxious beverage. You say something along the lines of "I couldn't," but only you'd say it in super-formal Korean. But then you do it anyway, because, well, you have to. And then you do it again. Rinse, lather, repeat. Always repeat. For about five to seven bottles. You know you're done when the two of you are either hugging and talking about how beautiful Kim Hye Soo is, or holding back each others hair while you ralph up bibimbap.

Now, the question remains: why would pops take you out and get you plastered? Because he likes you and wants to welcome you to the family? Heeellllllllll no. He's testing you. He wants to see how hir little girl's prince behaves after he's crushed enough alcohol to kill a Shetland Pony. If he's pouring his heart out about what an amazing girl this man produced, he's in. If he's trying to talk dad into going to a "fun" massage parlor, maybe he's not the right dude for his daughter.

But at worst, at least you get to eat bibimbap. What is bibimbap you ask? Well, according to my Korean lessons, "bap" means rice, and I'm pretty sure "bibim" means something like "sloppy mushy mess of stuff." Perhaps this video will help.

Confused? Yeah me too. But basically bibimbap is all that stuff you saw in the video (except for the people) thrown into a bowl with rice, and then mushed up with a spoon. Describing the taste would be as complicated as describing the undertones of James Joyce's Ulysses. However, it is akin to something you probably are familiar with:

You know how, the day after thanksgiving, you've got all that delicious turkey and gravy and stuffing and cranberry sauce and garlic smashed potatoes (yes, smashed) and corn and squash and anything else you can think of, and you get that crazy idea that we all have where we're like - "I'm gonna throw this all into the microwave and put it between two pieces of bread and just make a kickin' sandwich out of these leftovers." It's basically the Korean version of that. Except Korean are nuts about side dishes and spicy sauce, so it's pretty much a hodgepodge of all that, and instead of bread, since it's Asia, they use rice. But wow, it's damn good.

And often times, it's served out of a big bowl. Koreans love community food, with everyone using their chopsticks all together and contaminating the hell out of everything they touch. That's why everyone has cold sores here (at least, I hope that's why...). So they don't care if they catch diseases from the people they share food with, but strangers - forget that noise. A shockingly high number of Korean people, especially old people, wear masks. Not the Halloween variety, the ones that go over just your mouth and nose so you don't have to share air with the swarming bacteria pool we call society. Perhaps it comes from sheer racism...no, I take that it back, it definitely comes out of sheer racism, but the masks make everyone look like they have the potential to be a ninja.

Like I mean, am I crazy, or is he about to pull out a katana and dice us all into little pieces? And sometimes, they don't even need the mask...

Don't trust her smile. Look what she's already done to those fish.

And speaking of ninja training, mine is sword art is improving. Sure, my biggest accomplishment is beating a fifteen year old kid half my size, but hey, you gotta look at the small victories. But, at least now, everyone treats me like an equal. Which means no one goes easy on me, except the super experienced guys. Everyone else, especially the guys fresh out of the military my age, wants a piece of the gangly white dude. And I love battling 'em. It kind of reminds me of playing one-on-one basketball. It's a game of subtly, finesse, and speed, three things I don't possess but I'm trying like hell to attain. Hitting the areas where you score points (the head, neck, wrist, and chest) is extremely challenging and I have had some epic duals, even at my low level.

My one complaint is the old men. Because they are no longer fast or graceful, they just decide to wail on you. That means all power attacks, all the time. And they got that old man strength. Sure they're not scoring points, but if they bruise up a young guys shins enough, they walk away happy. And a bamboo sword really leaves a mark, especially the other day when I took one to the family jewels. Let's just say I could taste bibimbap for the rest of the night.  

On a totally unrelated note, Happy Lent to all you poor Catholics out there. My Ash Wednesday (the start of Lent, a day of fasting and abstinence to all you heathens out there who don't know) was abysmal. Why, you ask?  Well, the Tuesday night before (read: Mardi Gras) I swung by the church to talk the priest into giving me a quick confession. But then he asked me to go out for sushi. Of course I said yes. I learned a few things that night. In many ways, a man of the cloth lives a very different life than me. Other ways, like wanting to get hammered on Mardi Gras, him and I see more eye-to-eye on. So began an interesting journey.

At this sushi place, they were bringing out all sorts of things I had never seen before. Things with odd numbers of legs and colors and shapes and textures that just baffled me. Now, after a glass or two of hot sake (with fish gills floating in it for some delicious reason) I stopped caring and liberally devoured every raw sea faring creature placed before me. While we ate, he continuously referenced his phone to point out that this here fish is "tuna" or this is "white fish." While sampling one I really liked that kinda tasted like chicken, he pulled out his phone and said this was "puk-oh" fish. Having no idea what that was, he tried to pronounce it. I didn't understand. Looking at the phone made it oh, so clear.

Blowfish.

Dear God.

(If you are unaware, blowfish, improperly served, is poison, and potentially deadly to humans). So of course, I said to him. "Isn't blowfish poisonous?"

To which the smiling priest responded. "Sometimes."

This country is full of surprises. Long story short, waking up on a day of fasting (and teaching) hung-over off your gourd is an exercise is patience and self-loathing.

The last cultural treat I will let you good folks in on is "Carpe Diem," Korea premiere rock n' roll band. Don't bother looking them up. They're twelve years old, and they're my students.

When they first told me about going to what's called a "music academy," my knee jerk reaction was my Dad's voice in my head going "boooOOOOORRRRRRRIIINNNNGGGG." Because, let's be honest, that sounds as square as it gets. But when they told me it was basically band practice, the coolness factor became more evident in my mind. And, attending their rock concert in the park last Saturday, let me just say, I dig.

They showed up with instruments that were as big as they were, and they rocked the house. Jamming out to a bunch of Korean kids playing Muse's "Time is Running Out" and some Korean songs I'd never heard of before is one of the better things I've done out here. What I love most about their band, though, is that it makes perfect sense, who plays what instrument.

You've got Austin, the methodical and super precise drummer, who refuses to make the smallest mistake.

Then there's Tom, the reserved and intelligent one, whose coolness is revealed in just a few finger plucks of his bass.

Harry's Tom's little brother, the aggressive, fearless, athletic lead electric guitarist who, for eleven, just oozes badassery when he jams on his axe. 'Nuff said.   

And of course Lisa, the girl in the band, who right now they all think is "okay" and "just one of the guys," but I guarantee in about four years they're all going to totally fall in love with her.

Yeah, I know. These kids are absurdly cute. And I dig that. I got to see my students jam out, they were actually excited to see me there. Plus, afterwards, their parents took us all out for noodles and meat. I'm glad they feel comfortable enough to see me on the weekend, and show me their sound (which, no lie, was really good).

But that's all for today, rock gods and goddesses. As always, I miss and love you all. Keep rocking.

-Guitar Hero Foley

Post #17

Hello Fellow Nudists,

That's right, Foley in Korea #17 is the Naked Blog. Why the Naked Blog? We'll get to that later. First, some business.

Some would find calling an entire nation of people "thieves" to be a brash and borderline racist statement. Clearly, I am not one of these people. But don't get me wrong. That's what I love about this country. The stealing. What kind of larceny is this? Are the Koreans robbing precious jewels? Are they embezzling mass quantities of drug money? No. The only thing they steal here (other than my heart), is about every movie, document, song, video game, and online thing you can possibly think of.

I know what you're thinking, "Dan, we live in America. We know all about stealing music. Remember Napster? You're just telling us information we already know. This blog sucks." You just calm down for a minute. Yes, people in America steal music and movies at a reasonable pace. At the same time, there are plenty of people who pay for such things (which, at the risk of getting on my high-horse, I am a huge supporter of). But these kind of people just don't exist in Korea. When I mention things like "paying for music on iTunes" or "legally purchasing DVD's," Koreans look at me like I have a nail in my head. So what's the cause of the ransacking of copyrighted information?

BitTorrent. The program BitTorrent is nothing short of prolific in Korea. For those of you who don't know, BitTorrent allows users to download ENORMOUS files that have been compressed, so you can do it in a shorter time. We're talking about downloading HD full length feature films and entire series of televisions shows.

What sweetens the pot is the Korean internet service. It pummels America in terms of internet. Not only do they rank above America in the list of "Countries with Highest Internet Penetration," (The Falkland Islands were #1, who knew?) but Korean internet is faster on average than American. How much faster? America ranks twelve in the world with an average connection speed of 4.60 Mbits/second. Meanwhile, Korea is the gold medal winner with an absurd average connection speed of 16.63 Mbits/second. That's four times faster than America's AND twice as fast as Hong Kong's, which ranks number two on the list of fastest internet connections. Couple that with the fact that most Koreans have external hard drives with a terabyte (read: crapload) of space , they can have every episode of everything ever played on "Nick at Nite" in about five minutes without breaking a sweat. So why the hell would they pay? Plus the copyright laws here mean about as much as the "no smoking in the bathroom" signs, so there's no fear of Big Brother breathing down their neck. Ethics be damned!

And if you're still sitting there, saying "Listen Foley, I got so many illegal movies on my computer and a great connection speed. Korea is just like America. You're wasting my time." To you, my arrogant friend, I ask this: Have you ever downloaded an Xbox 360 game to your computer?

Didn't think so.

Computers and thievery are so important that no one really buys Xbox 360's and PlayStation 3's out here. Instead of spending four hundred dollars for three games, two controllers and a system, they can just download it for free. The only thing people really buy in Korea are Nintendo Wii's, and that's because they're just so damn fun.

While we're on the subject: if there's one thing I love, it's video games. Oh do I ever. But not as much as Korea. How much do Koreans love video games? The 1998 computer game Starcraft is Korea's national sport. Yup. Forget baseball, out here video games=sport. They take gaming seriously. But I don't think you understand how seriously. I stole some of the next pieces of information from this Cracked article, so if you want to read it yourself, you can get the full story. But between my own experience and a little research, here's the good stuff learned.

There is a television channel almost exclusively devoted to Starcraft games. Every day is footage of the 1998 game being played by Starcraft pros. That's right, Starcraft gaming is a profession out here. People get money to play video games. To be fair, this game requires a great amount of strategy and practice. But, what is truly bizarre is that people pay money to watch. The true testament to the immensity of this game can be seen in Starcraft tournaments. The finals of their 2005 tournament (the equivalent in their sports world to the World Series or Superbowl) had 120,000 people live in attendance. Holy crap. For comparison, Fenway park has a seating capacity of about 37,000.

The pros train like wild, too. Six days a week, at least ten hours a day. Their goal? Try to make as many moves as possible per minute. The best pros can pull off about 300 moves per minute. What does that look like? I'm glad you asked. Check out the video below. About nine seconds in, you'll see what I'm talking about.

 
And these dudes get chicks too. Super hot chicks. Super hot chicks who watch them play Starcraft all day long. It probably doesn't hurt that some of these dudes make about three hundred grand a year. It's no Tom Brady-esk salary, but still, it ain't bad.

And speaking of Tom Brady comparisons, my ego is out of control here with celebrity comparisons. You're probably aware I've been told out here that I look like Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and Johnny Depp (just to name a few) but the other day, out with some of my Korean friends, I received a comparison that even my massive ego couldn't support. Who could be so monumental, who could be so incredible that even I don't think I should be mentioned among the likes of?

Jesus Christ.

Well, Jesus Christ from Passion of the Christ. They said I looked like the dude who played Jesus in that movie. I decided that they think all white people look the same. And, quite frankly, they might be right. But damn I'm handsome.

Now, while I should not be compared to the King of Kings, there is a true saint in the Gwangju community. I am referring, of course, to the beloved Chicken Lady. This gorgeous fifty-odd year old woman is the leading supplier of drunk food in downtown Gwang-ju. Loved far more by foreigners than Koreans for one simple reason - the Hamcheese Toast-ee. American (kind of) style. Legend has it, the Chicken Lady came up with this recipe on a serious bender when she was super hungry, but was low on supplies in her fridge. Somehow, perhaps with the help of an angelic presence, she created the Hamcheese Toast-ee, the perfect balance of flavor. What is it? Essentially, it's an egg (mixed with some kinda of sprout and seasoning), a slab of ham, and melted cheese sandwich with pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup, and the secret ingredient that pulls it all together: kiwi sauce. Sounds nasty, and it is. But also very delicious. For a buck fifty, when you can't walk straight, there's no better food.

Except for maybe Chicken Lady's deep fried, crabbed stuffed jalapeno peppers. Yes, they're as good as they sound, and not at all spicy until the next morning, if you catch my drift. Ironically, Chicken Lady's chicken on a stick - not that good. No one really gets it.

Bur I know what you all came here for, and that's hard core male nudity. Well, my perverted friends, I have a story that should satisfy your strange urges. This takes place at the Korean institution known as the "Gimgilbong."

The Koreans call it a "bathroom" but that's like calling Chicago a town. It's kinda like a public spa, but with strange and quirky features. My Korean buddy Alex took me there early Saturday evening. We checked our shoes in and got the spa clothes (baggy shorts and a t-shirt) and proceeded to the men's side. Having never been to a spa before, I didn't know what to expect. What did I see? A lot of naked dudes. Like, a lot. Not locker room style, where people are changing and minding their own business. I'm talking full out naked Korean men, hanging all over the place, having intense conversations with each other like they were wearing clothes. I knew what I was up for when I saw this one old guy was bouncing around in a massage chair, buck naked save for the small towel resting on his chest. I felt really bad for that chair.

After showers, we threw on the spa clothes and proceeded to the co-ed sauna area. It was two stories of stuff ranging from a restaurant, to arcade games, to PC rooms, to ice cream vendors, to bedrooms. It was warm, but nothing serious. What was truly impressive was the legitimate sauna rooms. Various rooms, each built from a unique material like brick, coal, or stone, each with different temperatures. There was the frigid ice room (complete with real ice!). Then there were the normal sauna rooms at about 120F. There was the big boy sauna room that boasted 159F. But all of those paled in comparison to what I refer to as "The Oven."


The Oven was a room shaped like a cone, made of stone with wooden planks lining the walls. The only way to access it was through a glass crawl space. In this room, they don't tell you the temperature. To give you an idea of how hot it was, it was impossible to breathe in there without a towel wrapped around your face. The heat tore your lungs apart. In minutes, beads of sweat formed on my skin the size of beans. I would wager if a person stayed in there for six to eight hours, they would become something like the consistency of pulled pork. They would probably taste pretty good too.

They had massage chairs in the co-ed (clothed) area, which I took full advantage of. I was tempted to get a actual Korean massage, but I was nervous. A few weeks ago, a lady friend of mine received a special Korean massage designed to promote bodily health. I asked her out for drinks that night, but she declined, saying, "When you see me, you'll know why." The next day I saw her. She showed me her back. It resembled something I saw in an episode of Law and Order: SVU. No kidding, it looked like someone had mercilessly wailed on her back, switching between a tire iron and a billy club. And it wasn't just her back. Her arms, legs, and even under her chin were straight black a blue. I offered to fight this masseuse for her, but she assured me this was how it was supposed to look. Not unsurprisingly, I didn't get a massage on Saturday.    

The highlight of the Gimgilbong was, without doubt, the Korean scrub down. Korean tradition is, at the end of a trip to a Gimgilbong, you are given something that resembles a loofah. With it, among other naked men, you sit in these strange dentist-waiting-room seats, and scrub. Hard. The goal is to rid yourself of dead skin particles. Yes, I know how attractive that sounds. But oh wait, it gets better.

You know how, when you're at the beach, there's always one area of your body you have trouble reaching? Bingo: the back. So, Gimgilbong tradition is, you and the...uh...other naked guy, take turns...uh...vigorously scrubbing down the other one's back to remove dead skin. Now, I didn't mind chilling with all the naked dudes or the little kids staring at my American package, but this was a little bit more of a stretch for me. But honestly, it wasn't all that bad. At first, it was a little awkward, but after a few seconds, wasn't weird at all. And even though I was naked behind another naked man, rubbing down his back with a bristled cloth, it was totally not gay.

Except for maybe when he told me to go "harder."   

But truly, an excellent experience. Good chilling with my man Alex, afterwards I felt like I had been cleansed, both body and mind. I felt a peace. I could close my eyes, and question the mysteries of the universe, like why are we here? And why are Korean guys naturally hairless?

But that's all for today, lovers of Korea. I miss and love you all, and I truly mean that.

-Naked Dan