I am now safely back in the United States for a month. I have had ten days "rest," though some of it was lest than restful. How do I feel about it? Well, the jury is out. Some very tragic things have happened since I came home, but there have been benefits as well.
A day after I arrived home, the news reached me that a very dear former coworker had suddenly died of cancer. She was the very first person to welcome me to MIlpitas High School when I began working there in 2002, something I really appreciated. I attended her wake and funeral; her "thousand-watt smile" and cheerful attitude will be sorely missed. She was a very caring and maternal "earth mother" type; a coronet of flowers adorned her still beautiful fair hair, and under her rosary and in her hands someone had placed her favorite treat, a Hershey bar. She would have gotten a kick out of all of it, especially the Janis Joplin exit music.
The good news is that I have cleared a lot of debt. Considering the state I was in when I left, I have done very well, or at least I try to believe that I have. I will not, as I previously hoped, be able (on my lower salary) to clear ALL of my debt, as I had originally planned; this is distressing, but a long drive this evening cleared my head and I feel a little better.
I have finally secured a job at the University of Suwon; the salary is less than stellar, in fact, it is quite laughable given the qualifications they were looking for. Even so, I look at it as a resume builder. I will gain experience in a smaller Korean town teaching adults and university students (nevr confuse the two in Korea!).
But the Korean system is based, after all, on bringing in people who cannot or will not function the way a "normal" person should in their own society; some of the people I have met along the way have given me pause to say, "Whoa! Am I really like that?" Certainly I fit this in that I have never needed the fancy car, the house, or the money. The irony is that I cannot even get what I do want - a modest condo or apartment in the coastal area...But I am very sane compared to some of the characters I have met, or at least I flatter myself that this is so.
When I got in the taxi to leave Seoul, I immediately knew my trip was going to be interesting. It had been pouring rain for several days, and parts of the freeway system were flooded. The taxi driver darted in and out of the city several times in order to avoid the floods. It took so long that my bladder gave out, and we had to stop at a gas station. I left everything in the taxi except my plane ticket and my purse. When I came out, we got on the freeway again. Then, I realized that I had left my e-ticket in the bathroom. The driver was kind enough to turn around; fortunately, it was still there.
We finally arrived at Incheon, and the journey through immigration went smoothly. The ticket given to me was "Economy Plus," so I felt very lucky (5 inches extra leg room). The first plane took off, and we had a very bumpy ride to Nippon (Japan). I managed to sleep most of the time, in spite of stomach churning turbulence. Once on the ground, I tried to get some money changed. After several consultations with a very inconvenient computer map, I found the currency exchange. They would not, however, exchange my won for dollars, even though they said they were full service.
I boarded the next plane, which proved to be a vintage Boeing 747 built sometime in the 1970s by the looks and sounds of it. Every twist and bump caused the plane to creak. To my horror, I discovered that I had been placed in a "sandwich seat" between two male passangers. The window seat passenger was a good-looking and entertaining Korean American grad student (UCLA) who was also, alas for me, very tall and leggy. On the aisle sat an Army reservist fire chief from Santa Fe; he was in his fifties and had quite a bit of trouble with his knee on the flight. Both companions were pleasant; I wish I had gotten the grad student's phone number!
I arrived in LAX with about two hours to spare. As this was considered the point of entry, the plane had to unload the luggage so we could carry it to customs. I had two very large and heavy bags to deal with, so I took advantage of the free baggage carts. Unfortunately, the baggage carousel broke down. Two more international flights came in, and they were being unloaded onto the same carousel. Throught fits and starts, the baggage was unloaded. An hour later, I heave-hoed my massive baggage off. I fought valiantly with the baggage cart and finally won. I knew I was in America because not one person offered to help me get my luggage on the cart, though I was swearing, huffing, and puffing. In Korea, I would have had at least three people try to help.
I then got into the long line through customs and went through pretty smoothly. I put my baggage on another carousel and pulled out my ticket. I asked an airport security guard for directions; she was very pleasant, and indicated that the terminal was a "two minute walk" from the international terminal. Actually, it was fifteen minutes in scorching heat. I got there just in time to be harassed by security. When I left America, security was only doing selective screening of shoes, laptops, etc. The rude guard gave me attitude when I expressed confusion about taking off my hiking boots and taking my laptop out of its case. He then got squiffy when I took a long time to do it (there was no one else in line), hiking boots not being an easy item to remove in a hurry. Both he and the technician then laughed at me because I was not wearing socks (long story there) and I was being very delicate about putting my bare feet on the filthy floor (in Asian countries, they give you temporary slippers).
The puddle jumper flight was uneventful; I had a nice chat with my seatmate about living abroad. My family was at the airport to meet me, as well as two of my friends.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Monday, July 10, 2006
JOURNAL: Man Versus the Machine
Well, I have officially begun packing to return to the US. My last work day is July 12; I leave Korea on July 16th, and arrive in San Jose a half hour after I left, according to my ticket...I have a two hour stopover in Narita (Japan); hopefully the Japanese will hold off their counter attack against N. Korea while I am there...
I was penniless when I came here, and now I am jobless as well. I have had no luck on my university job hunt. Sigh. Maybe it is time to flip some burgers....But maybe I am too cocky; maybe working an extra three years to get an MA was not worth it in the end. Maybe it IS just a piece of paper with no meaning behind it. I love literature, and I love the English language. Maybe there is no room for it in this world.
This is my blessing and my curse. I am an academic at heart, an academic who dearly loves teaching AND research. I need the university environment to thrive. This hit me as I began devising Plan B, returning to school for my CELTA certification. It is true that teachers are lifelong learners. I revel in seemingly useless details. I just finished a unit with my second graders on plant reproduction, an area I had never given much thought to (as most of us don't). I learned how a plant makes seeds and how to label their reproductive organs because I had to teach it. You learn in order to teach.
From my students, I have learned a great deal of Korean history and folklore. If asked an essay question on the March 3 Movement in Korea, I could give reasonably accurate details about the Protestant clergymen and students who marched to Topgol Square and declared their independence from Japan in 1911 (causing a bloody massacre). Why does this matter? It doesn't to us; we barely talk about the Korean War (30 years later) in U.S. history class. I didn't even know there WAS a Korean War until I went to college. I have gained a wide-world view from my life here; what happens on a tiny, isolated penninsula has world-wide impact on so-called democracy. Note the current thunderings from "the North."
I have digressed quite a bit from my original intentions, so, without further ado and on a lighter note....
MAN VERSUS MACHINE
I seldom get in trouble at work, but when I do, it is usually a big thing.
On Wednesday, I had a particularly rotten day. I had only one hour of sleep due to a foul, mysterious odor in my apartment. I had noticed it earlier in the week, but no amount of searching could find the source. It smelled peculiarly of "dead mouse;" I know this because while I was in high school, a mouse (caught in a trap) fell from the attic into the wall space of the spare bedroom, whereupon it died and rotted all winter. Well, this night the aroma was especially bad. I traced the source to under my air conditioner (which is directly above my bed) and found the odor to be overpoweringly strong. I stood on my bed and peered up. The entire inside of my A/C was coated in mold, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to sleep, but to no avail.
Bleary and groggy-eyed, I sleepwalked through my day. After work, I went to see the director to verify my last day; there had been some confusion as to when exactly it was. This was at 9 p.m. We hashed out my date to July 12, and then she said something that really made my day.
"By the way, I know you are only her one more week, but I need to tell you we got a parent complaint."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Four students want to drop your class."
"Is it my GT4B5-1 class, by any chance?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess."
"Well, we at POLY backed you up; I told the parents you had an MA in English."
(Not sure what that had to do with anything, but ok...)
"What was the problem?"
"You know, Rebecca, teenage girls are very sensitive. I have a daughter, and she is very sensitive also, and we need to be gentle with them."
(Where is this going? I wondered.)
"This student says that you are 'mean' and 'hysterical.'"
"I don't see how that can be; I never yell or degrade the students...Ah, this student isn't L___, is it?"
"Well, yes."
"Did she also tell you I gave her a discipline note for drawing on the desk, talking back, and throwing things at other students?"
The director then began to lecture me on the fact that I gave three VERBAL warnings rather than put the student's name on the board. I also told her that I DID lose my temper after the SECOND time a student brought out a squirt gun and shot it off in class. I did not, as she pointed out, follow proper procedure then, either, as I believe that qualifies as a three-strikes-your-out offense. I have also confiscated BB guns on other occasions. This same director, btw, has sent new teachers to observe me because I have "excellent classroom management skills."
As I was leaving in a week, I decided to put it behind me and chalk it up to one more "weird thing that Koreans do." But fate was not so kind as to let me forget that easily.
At 9:30, well past my leaving time, I went downstairs to get money from the ATM. I needed 100,000 Won to pay the landlady my maintinence fee and to have money for the weekend. I punched in my number, checked my balance, and then hit the "Withdrawal" key. The machine hummed and whistled, as it usually does, and counted out my bills. There is a compartment where the bills are counted into, wherupon a door opens and you take your cash out of a deep box. The door opened about a centimeter...and the computer crashed, capturing both my money and my bank card in the machine.
"Arrrrgh..." I screeched. I looked around helplessly. I must have stood there like a dummy for about five minutes.
The building security guard came back from his rounds, and saw me. We are on very friendly terms in spite of the fact that he doesn't speak a word of English; I always greet him in the afternoon in Korean and bow slightly (as he is an older gentleman). He came over to see what was wrong, and in an elaborate pantomime, I managed to convey what had happened. He laughed delightedly at my enactment, as I included sound effects (the ATMs in Korea have beeps and whistles to tell you where you are in the cycle) and ended with a dramatic KABOOM and pointed to the computer screen. He understood the KABOOM, and called the bank security.
The bank security guard came after about 15 minutes, and took the whole machine apart. He was able to retrieve my card, but he was not able to get my money. I tried to convey that I wanted some assurance that the money would be redistributed to my account, but there my Korean ran out. The two men then got into a loud, and completely incomprehensible arguement about what the proper procedure was (I assume). I kept trying to pantomime "receipt" and said the word repeatedly, but no one was listening to me. When Koreans get excited, they gesticulate wildly just like the Italians, except in even less personal space. So, with arms and spittle flying, I dodged and brought out my only weapon, my "handu phone."
I began to call every Korean friend I had, and NOT ONE answered their cell phone. Finally, in defeat, I dialed the one number I had left in my arsenal - the director who had just yelled at me. I knew she was working late, and she did answer her phone. After a few minutes, she came down, and got it sorted out. Heaping coals on my head, she even lended me 20,000 Won after she found out I only had 7,000 Won in ready cash. The money was to be transferred by the end of the next business day. And it was.
As soon as I got it straightened out, I limped home (my ankle was swollen from a slight accident I had). As I went out the door, I received a text message from one of my Korean friends, who asked what the problem was. He then called me, and laughed with me at my loony situation.
"By the way, " I asked, "Just for future reference, what is the Korean word for 'receipt'?"
"'Re-si-tuh.'"
I was penniless when I came here, and now I am jobless as well. I have had no luck on my university job hunt. Sigh. Maybe it is time to flip some burgers....But maybe I am too cocky; maybe working an extra three years to get an MA was not worth it in the end. Maybe it IS just a piece of paper with no meaning behind it. I love literature, and I love the English language. Maybe there is no room for it in this world.
This is my blessing and my curse. I am an academic at heart, an academic who dearly loves teaching AND research. I need the university environment to thrive. This hit me as I began devising Plan B, returning to school for my CELTA certification. It is true that teachers are lifelong learners. I revel in seemingly useless details. I just finished a unit with my second graders on plant reproduction, an area I had never given much thought to (as most of us don't). I learned how a plant makes seeds and how to label their reproductive organs because I had to teach it. You learn in order to teach.
From my students, I have learned a great deal of Korean history and folklore. If asked an essay question on the March 3 Movement in Korea, I could give reasonably accurate details about the Protestant clergymen and students who marched to Topgol Square and declared their independence from Japan in 1911 (causing a bloody massacre). Why does this matter? It doesn't to us; we barely talk about the Korean War (30 years later) in U.S. history class. I didn't even know there WAS a Korean War until I went to college. I have gained a wide-world view from my life here; what happens on a tiny, isolated penninsula has world-wide impact on so-called democracy. Note the current thunderings from "the North."
I have digressed quite a bit from my original intentions, so, without further ado and on a lighter note....
MAN VERSUS MACHINE
I seldom get in trouble at work, but when I do, it is usually a big thing.
On Wednesday, I had a particularly rotten day. I had only one hour of sleep due to a foul, mysterious odor in my apartment. I had noticed it earlier in the week, but no amount of searching could find the source. It smelled peculiarly of "dead mouse;" I know this because while I was in high school, a mouse (caught in a trap) fell from the attic into the wall space of the spare bedroom, whereupon it died and rotted all winter. Well, this night the aroma was especially bad. I traced the source to under my air conditioner (which is directly above my bed) and found the odor to be overpoweringly strong. I stood on my bed and peered up. The entire inside of my A/C was coated in mold, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to sleep, but to no avail.
Bleary and groggy-eyed, I sleepwalked through my day. After work, I went to see the director to verify my last day; there had been some confusion as to when exactly it was. This was at 9 p.m. We hashed out my date to July 12, and then she said something that really made my day.
"By the way, I know you are only her one more week, but I need to tell you we got a parent complaint."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Four students want to drop your class."
"Is it my GT4B5-1 class, by any chance?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess."
"Well, we at POLY backed you up; I told the parents you had an MA in English."
(Not sure what that had to do with anything, but ok...)
"What was the problem?"
"You know, Rebecca, teenage girls are very sensitive. I have a daughter, and she is very sensitive also, and we need to be gentle with them."
(Where is this going? I wondered.)
"This student says that you are 'mean' and 'hysterical.'"
"I don't see how that can be; I never yell or degrade the students...Ah, this student isn't L___, is it?"
"Well, yes."
"Did she also tell you I gave her a discipline note for drawing on the desk, talking back, and throwing things at other students?"
The director then began to lecture me on the fact that I gave three VERBAL warnings rather than put the student's name on the board. I also told her that I DID lose my temper after the SECOND time a student brought out a squirt gun and shot it off in class. I did not, as she pointed out, follow proper procedure then, either, as I believe that qualifies as a three-strikes-your-out offense. I have also confiscated BB guns on other occasions. This same director, btw, has sent new teachers to observe me because I have "excellent classroom management skills."
As I was leaving in a week, I decided to put it behind me and chalk it up to one more "weird thing that Koreans do." But fate was not so kind as to let me forget that easily.
At 9:30, well past my leaving time, I went downstairs to get money from the ATM. I needed 100,000 Won to pay the landlady my maintinence fee and to have money for the weekend. I punched in my number, checked my balance, and then hit the "Withdrawal" key. The machine hummed and whistled, as it usually does, and counted out my bills. There is a compartment where the bills are counted into, wherupon a door opens and you take your cash out of a deep box. The door opened about a centimeter...and the computer crashed, capturing both my money and my bank card in the machine.
"Arrrrgh..." I screeched. I looked around helplessly. I must have stood there like a dummy for about five minutes.
The building security guard came back from his rounds, and saw me. We are on very friendly terms in spite of the fact that he doesn't speak a word of English; I always greet him in the afternoon in Korean and bow slightly (as he is an older gentleman). He came over to see what was wrong, and in an elaborate pantomime, I managed to convey what had happened. He laughed delightedly at my enactment, as I included sound effects (the ATMs in Korea have beeps and whistles to tell you where you are in the cycle) and ended with a dramatic KABOOM and pointed to the computer screen. He understood the KABOOM, and called the bank security.
The bank security guard came after about 15 minutes, and took the whole machine apart. He was able to retrieve my card, but he was not able to get my money. I tried to convey that I wanted some assurance that the money would be redistributed to my account, but there my Korean ran out. The two men then got into a loud, and completely incomprehensible arguement about what the proper procedure was (I assume). I kept trying to pantomime "receipt" and said the word repeatedly, but no one was listening to me. When Koreans get excited, they gesticulate wildly just like the Italians, except in even less personal space. So, with arms and spittle flying, I dodged and brought out my only weapon, my "handu phone."
I began to call every Korean friend I had, and NOT ONE answered their cell phone. Finally, in defeat, I dialed the one number I had left in my arsenal - the director who had just yelled at me. I knew she was working late, and she did answer her phone. After a few minutes, she came down, and got it sorted out. Heaping coals on my head, she even lended me 20,000 Won after she found out I only had 7,000 Won in ready cash. The money was to be transferred by the end of the next business day. And it was.
As soon as I got it straightened out, I limped home (my ankle was swollen from a slight accident I had). As I went out the door, I received a text message from one of my Korean friends, who asked what the problem was. He then called me, and laughed with me at my loony situation.
"By the way, " I asked, "Just for future reference, what is the Korean word for 'receipt'?"
"'Re-si-tuh.'"
Thursday, June 22, 2006
PHOTO: Public Health Campaign or Advertising Capmpaign? You Decide...
A Merchandising Empire Begins Below the Belt 
The True Meaning of World "Cup"
A Real Red Devil
The True Meaning of World "Cup"
A Real Red Devil
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
JOURNAL: "Daehanminguk!" Aarghhhh!
I apologize in advance to my anxious readers. I am not dead, ill, or in a psychiatric ward somewhere...I have just been ridiculously busy. I am job-hunting in Korea; not an easy thing to do unless you want to work at a hogwon again. My time at POLY has been good, and I am not complaining much. I would probably have re-signed if a) I got more than ten days vacation and whenever I wanted it and b) it was in my best career interest. Instead, I am lookng for a solid "uni"(versity) job that pays the bills. This has been an enormous challenge, as well as nerve-wracking, paper-work intensive (no thanks to immigration), and downright annoying.
What is the problem? You may ask. After all, I have an MA in English, a BA in Theatre Arts, five years of teaching experience, and excellent references. I also meet the requisite blonde, blue-eyed, and youthful female. All I can figure out is that it is a highly competitive market out there. If "Dave's ESL Cafe" is anything to judge by, many people are tired of hogwons ripping them off. Some BAs DO get uni positions, which is why I can't figure out why I have gotten only two interviews lined up. I had to turn down the first job because it paid by the hour; I need a guaranteed salary. The second interview is by proxy as it is in Ulsan, the rough equivalent of Lansing, MI. This job I am extremely ambivalent about. If anyone out there knows of a university out there that wants to hire someone who is actually QUALIFIED to teach college-level English (and Theatre), please let me know!
But enough about work woes.
"Daehanminguk!" (clapclapclapclap CLAP CLAP) The battle cry rings out well into the night, and World Cup fever has swept the land. For those of us who cannot afford to fly to Germany, the city government of Seoul has helpfully set up giant screens at all the major stadiums, parks, and City Hall. In America, this would be courting disaster. In Seoul, this is courting large crowds. Are they drunk? Undoubtedly. Are they loud? Naturally. Are they rowdy? Well, not really.
Last Tuesday after work, I called my friend, who had gone down to check out the set-up at City Hall. Laura, who is Korean, said it was too crowded. Now, when a Seoulite says it is too crowded, IT IS TOO CROWDED. She was on her way back, so I called some of my coworkers who were at Olympic Park. They also said it was too crowded. Even so, after consulting Laura, we decided to brave the crowd at Olympic Park. We came in the back way, which turned out to be a brilliant move. The back way led us right to the front (logically), and we could see the screen perfectly from the sidelines.
A sea of red t-shirts, glowing devil horns (Red Devils), and interesting fashion statements was before us. To my surprise, most of the fans stayed seated. There was a current of anticipation running through the crowd, but it was decorously subdued most of the time. Don't get me wrong, when something exciting happened, people leapt to their feet and cheered, but the rest of the time they stayed seated. Being up front did have its downfall however; whenever Korea scored, the pyrotechnics went off right over our heads, and the ashes raineth down from the heavens.
I wore the requisite "Corea" T-shirt with a bandana scrawled with the excellent Konglish phrase "We are the twelfth!" Like many Waygooks, I though they were bragging about being twelfth in the divison; I late found out that it meant they were the twelfth member of the soccer team. I could not puzzle out the odd spelling of "Corea" I saw everywhere. All the Americans agree that it looks rather wimpy with a "C." I later found out why the spelling was changed from a random 3rd grader.
As many people know, Korea and Japan do not have a cozy history. Domination, forced prostution, murder, mayhem...Japan in general did not endear itself to many nations in the early 20th century. Japan has yet to formally apologize to Korea for what it did to them; this is not the issue. Apparently, during some sports talk, a Japanese sports figure sneered at the Korea team, saying that "J" will always come before "K." In response, a patriotic group of Koreans decided, "Fine. We will spell our name with a 'C'." Thus a new merchandising empire was born. I am reminded of the much older, but still violence-prone, Scottish-English team rivalries. They like to throw broken beer bottles at each other when there is a big game between the two; this apparently somehow stemmed out of England's massacre and take-over of Scotland in 1745. Old wounds leave scars.
Korea-style, the World Cup merchandising empire has, as usual, gone too far. Bandannas, devil horns, socks, t-shirts, even temporary tattoos sport "Support Corea" logos. I was not, however, prepared for the condoms. They all say "Open for Safety" at the bottom, and have the happy soccer balls of this year's World Cup logo stamped all over the package. One of the soccer balls has Korean War paint on his cheeks, and says, "Let's protect ourselves!" The list of strange Konglish phrases goes on and on.
On Monday morning, after a rough night, I finally fell asleep at about 3:00 a.m. At around 5:30 a.m., I was rudely awakened by screaming girl-elephants herding across my ceiling, as well as a general uproar on the city streets outside my window.
Korea had scored.
"Daehanminguk" go bragh.
What is the problem? You may ask. After all, I have an MA in English, a BA in Theatre Arts, five years of teaching experience, and excellent references. I also meet the requisite blonde, blue-eyed, and youthful female. All I can figure out is that it is a highly competitive market out there. If "Dave's ESL Cafe" is anything to judge by, many people are tired of hogwons ripping them off. Some BAs DO get uni positions, which is why I can't figure out why I have gotten only two interviews lined up. I had to turn down the first job because it paid by the hour; I need a guaranteed salary. The second interview is by proxy as it is in Ulsan, the rough equivalent of Lansing, MI. This job I am extremely ambivalent about. If anyone out there knows of a university out there that wants to hire someone who is actually QUALIFIED to teach college-level English (and Theatre), please let me know!
But enough about work woes.
"Daehanminguk!" (clapclapclapclap CLAP CLAP) The battle cry rings out well into the night, and World Cup fever has swept the land. For those of us who cannot afford to fly to Germany, the city government of Seoul has helpfully set up giant screens at all the major stadiums, parks, and City Hall. In America, this would be courting disaster. In Seoul, this is courting large crowds. Are they drunk? Undoubtedly. Are they loud? Naturally. Are they rowdy? Well, not really.
Last Tuesday after work, I called my friend, who had gone down to check out the set-up at City Hall. Laura, who is Korean, said it was too crowded. Now, when a Seoulite says it is too crowded, IT IS TOO CROWDED. She was on her way back, so I called some of my coworkers who were at Olympic Park. They also said it was too crowded. Even so, after consulting Laura, we decided to brave the crowd at Olympic Park. We came in the back way, which turned out to be a brilliant move. The back way led us right to the front (logically), and we could see the screen perfectly from the sidelines.
A sea of red t-shirts, glowing devil horns (Red Devils), and interesting fashion statements was before us. To my surprise, most of the fans stayed seated. There was a current of anticipation running through the crowd, but it was decorously subdued most of the time. Don't get me wrong, when something exciting happened, people leapt to their feet and cheered, but the rest of the time they stayed seated. Being up front did have its downfall however; whenever Korea scored, the pyrotechnics went off right over our heads, and the ashes raineth down from the heavens.
I wore the requisite "Corea" T-shirt with a bandana scrawled with the excellent Konglish phrase "We are the twelfth!" Like many Waygooks, I though they were bragging about being twelfth in the divison; I late found out that it meant they were the twelfth member of the soccer team. I could not puzzle out the odd spelling of "Corea" I saw everywhere. All the Americans agree that it looks rather wimpy with a "C." I later found out why the spelling was changed from a random 3rd grader.
As many people know, Korea and Japan do not have a cozy history. Domination, forced prostution, murder, mayhem...Japan in general did not endear itself to many nations in the early 20th century. Japan has yet to formally apologize to Korea for what it did to them; this is not the issue. Apparently, during some sports talk, a Japanese sports figure sneered at the Korea team, saying that "J" will always come before "K." In response, a patriotic group of Koreans decided, "Fine. We will spell our name with a 'C'." Thus a new merchandising empire was born. I am reminded of the much older, but still violence-prone, Scottish-English team rivalries. They like to throw broken beer bottles at each other when there is a big game between the two; this apparently somehow stemmed out of England's massacre and take-over of Scotland in 1745. Old wounds leave scars.
Korea-style, the World Cup merchandising empire has, as usual, gone too far. Bandannas, devil horns, socks, t-shirts, even temporary tattoos sport "Support Corea" logos. I was not, however, prepared for the condoms. They all say "Open for Safety" at the bottom, and have the happy soccer balls of this year's World Cup logo stamped all over the package. One of the soccer balls has Korean War paint on his cheeks, and says, "Let's protect ourselves!" The list of strange Konglish phrases goes on and on.
On Monday morning, after a rough night, I finally fell asleep at about 3:00 a.m. At around 5:30 a.m., I was rudely awakened by screaming girl-elephants herding across my ceiling, as well as a general uproar on the city streets outside my window.
Korea had scored.
"Daehanminguk" go bragh.
Friday, June 02, 2006
NOTE: More Traffic
I have now gone "public" with my blog. Below is posted a link to "The Korea Blog List" if you are interested in other people's adventures in Korea. My traffic will hopefully increase, and it gives me incentive to go back and edit all my typos out...
http://www.korea.banoffeepie.com
http://www.korea.banoffeepie.com
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
JOURNAL: Spring Fever and Bad English
Last Tuesday, in my advanced middle school class, we were doing a listening and speaking excersise on employers monitoring their employees in the work place. My kids being the way they are, they helpfully pointed out the "class cams," claiming it "violated their privacy." One of the girls innocently said that the people who watch the children in the POLY classrooms really just sit back and "play with themselves." But back to my point.
The listening series we use employs actual radio broadcasts, usually from NPR, so they do spark some interesting debates. There is a reading section to go along with the listening section; in this week's reading selection, the journalist used the "Xerox scandal" as an example of how employers monitor employees, stating that 40 Xerox employees were fired after downloading pornography onto their work computers. The boy reading the article did a double-take, and I said,"Ah, Sean, you know what 'pornography' is?"
Without thinking, he answered, "Oh yes, I know very well what it is," then turned an interesting shade of pomegranate. Fortunately, only a few of the boys caught it (the girls looked puzzled).
One of the ways in which employees are being monitored, according the the article, is through cameras in the bathroom and other "private areas" (direct quote). The girls were horrified by this, even when I mentioned that it was done to prevent stealing and drug-dealing. (Connecticut is the only state that has banned this practice, btw.)
During group discussion, one of the other boys caused some more snickering, and even "teacher" nearly lost it. We were discussing alternative ways to monitor employees, ways that don't interfere with privacy overmuch. Only one boy defended the practice of bathroom cams, but his reason was, "If they put a camera in the bathroom, they can catch people performing immoral acts."
I only lost my composure for a moment; Sean was not so lucky. I backed the mildly embarassed boy up, "Such as..?" and he went on to talk about the stealing and drug dealing that goes on it the bathroom. He also advocated a "one person at a time" bathroom policy, but that didn't fly well with the class.
On another middle school note, my co-worker assigned her class to come up with a list of ten items each student would want to have if they were trapped on a desert island; they are reading LORD OF THE FLIES. Harry's number one answer? GIRLS!
The listening series we use employs actual radio broadcasts, usually from NPR, so they do spark some interesting debates. There is a reading section to go along with the listening section; in this week's reading selection, the journalist used the "Xerox scandal" as an example of how employers monitor employees, stating that 40 Xerox employees were fired after downloading pornography onto their work computers. The boy reading the article did a double-take, and I said,"Ah, Sean, you know what 'pornography' is?"
Without thinking, he answered, "Oh yes, I know very well what it is," then turned an interesting shade of pomegranate. Fortunately, only a few of the boys caught it (the girls looked puzzled).
One of the ways in which employees are being monitored, according the the article, is through cameras in the bathroom and other "private areas" (direct quote). The girls were horrified by this, even when I mentioned that it was done to prevent stealing and drug-dealing. (Connecticut is the only state that has banned this practice, btw.)
During group discussion, one of the other boys caused some more snickering, and even "teacher" nearly lost it. We were discussing alternative ways to monitor employees, ways that don't interfere with privacy overmuch. Only one boy defended the practice of bathroom cams, but his reason was, "If they put a camera in the bathroom, they can catch people performing immoral acts."
I only lost my composure for a moment; Sean was not so lucky. I backed the mildly embarassed boy up, "Such as..?" and he went on to talk about the stealing and drug dealing that goes on it the bathroom. He also advocated a "one person at a time" bathroom policy, but that didn't fly well with the class.
On another middle school note, my co-worker assigned her class to come up with a list of ten items each student would want to have if they were trapped on a desert island; they are reading LORD OF THE FLIES. Harry's number one answer? GIRLS!
Monday, May 29, 2006
Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part II
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the camera man on top for a sense of scale.
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the cameraman on top for a sense of scale.
As I strolled along the park, a couple of middle-aged ladies approached me and asked if they could walk with me for a pace. This is quite common in Korea – if you look white, people want to practice their English on you. I usually comply with such requests, and this was no exception. The ladies explained that they were “volunteers,” and appeared to be associated with the park. Many park docents are, in fact, unpaid volunteers. We chit-chatted about this and that and they inevitably asked about my religion. The town was full of people who were in town to celebrate Buddha’s birthday; in fact there was a temple across the street from the park. Gyeongju is the center of Korean Buddhism, so this question did not seem too odd to me. Not wanting to be mistaken for the weird hippie-type Westerner, I gently explained I was a Christian, not a Buddhist. This seemed to impress them, and the subject was dropped. We stopped to take a picture, and then I began to go on my way. Before I left, we exchanged information - again, a politeness in Korea. It is very rude to refuse contact information. Then the bomb dropped, “I would like you to read this magazine and tell me what you think about it. I will contact you later on this week."
They were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I have got to give them credit. I am so used to acting “Korean polite” that I didn’t see it coming. Not only this, but they did it virtually on the doorstep of a Buddhist temple. That takes some guts, and I admire that. One of the ladies did contact me, but I did not respond.
I continued on towards the center of the park, and promptly ran into a gaggle of young children, shepherded by their weary teachers. Each group was neatly “color-coded” by uniform - a handy thing when you are responsible for 40 children in your group! The colors also appeared to correspond somewhat to age group – yellow and orange for preschool/kindergarten, pink for 3rd grade, etc. The children were relatively quiet until a silent signal was released from the teachers. Then, the children began doing what children do - run around like lunatics. I walked near the older group for a bit, and one of the male teachers spoke surprisingly good English. He was very interested in conversing further, but his duties interfered.
I went towards the bathroom, and groaned as I saw a line of children in front of me. The children got very excited when they saw me, and began babbling at me in Korean. The female teacher in charge tentatively approached me, and asked if I would pose for a picture. The noisy tots (about 5-6 years old) gathered around me eagerly, and I made bunny ears over their dark little heads as the camera flashed. Then they babbled at me some more, “hello, thank you, hi” being the extent of their English. One of the more silent ones looked up at me in wonder, and exclaimed “Ajuma!” (Wow, you look like middle-aged!) I looked down at him and said, equally seriously,
“Ajuma?! Anio!” (Old woman? Nooo!)
The crowd rippled with excitement.
“Hangul?” “Hangul!” (She speaks Korean! Woah!)
Great fun.
nbsp;
I soon left, and headed out of the gate on the other side of the park. I wandered down the village streets for awhile, trying to get my bearings. As I went down the main drag, someone frantically called out to me, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I turned around, and saw a well dressed middle-aged woman in heels chasing me down. Out of breath, she panted, ”May I talk with you?”
Oh great. Another one.
She then explained, “I came into town with my husband on business. We just finished lunch, and he just... dropped me off here. Can I talk to you and walk with you for awhile? I don’t know what to do until my husband picks me up…I think I will be bored…”
Korean women, especially of a certain class, do not know how to travel alone. As we were in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much of a town, I took pity on her, and allowed her to join me. “Pearl” turned out to be a good companion; she even insisted on paying my way a bit. In America, I would be suspicious, but there was something about her that spoke of a fragile honesty.
Pearl often traveled with her husband, but he had a tendency to drop her off in random places (“Have a good time, dear!”). In a country where no one even goes to the bathroom alone (even sharing bathroom stalls), this is a scary thing. As we chatted, I got to know a bit more about her life. She had a teenage son studying at boarding school in Australia, and a 14 year old at home (who kept calling her). She “helped her husband” with his business, but I took this to be code-word for “housewife.”
We went across a field to the Cheomseongdae Observatory, one of the oldest of its kind still standing in Asia. There we met one of the volunteer guides, a man who said everyone called him “Grandpa Choi.” He clearly enjoyed his “job,” giving lengthy details about the mathematical reasoning behind the stone structure. It was a clever system of season, day, and cycle counting, a system I couldn’t even begin to relate. The structure did survive several massive earthquakes, establishing Korea’s reputation at the time for brick-making. Even now, the masonry has held up amazingly well; not a stone was missing or out of place:
After we left, we crossed the street to a bakery that served Gyeongju’s specialty, a sort of barley-bread sandwich stuffed with red bean paste. It was tasty, but not spectacular.
We then boarded a bus to go up to Bulgaksa Temple, a UNESCO World-Heritage sight. As it was Buddha’s birthday, the temple was lavishly decorated with paper lanterns and lotus flowers:
This ancient pagoda is featured on the back of the "10 Won" piece (about ten cents):
I was especially intrigued by the “mini-pagodas,” which serve as wishes or prayers. These piles of rocks are man-made, and have deep symbolism for Buddhists:
A very resourceful individual used a convenient tree to build a taller pagoda:
Tree Pagoda
Even the god of music looks like someone you would not like to cross:
We were not allowed to take photos inside the temples, so I did not get any shots of the Buddhas here.
Pearl’s husband finally called wondering where she was. I didn’t understand the cell phone conversation of course, but the tone of voice sounded like this:
Husband: You are WHERE?! Up the mountain at a temple?! (She was Christian)
Wife: You think I was going to wait around for you all day?
Husband: (Sigh) All right, I will come get you.
As we waited, we stopped at a food stall. Pearl then proceeded to buy what can only be described as a Korean delicacy – cooked silkworm larvae. I have never actually seen people buy these things, let alone eat them, although they are readily available in any street market. My students either absolutely love them, or think they are gross (“Ewww, fried worms!”) They smell like burning tires, and look like, well, cooked larvae. Apparently you spear the suckers with a toothpick; a young couple was lovingly spooning them into each others’ mouths at the bus stop…I tried to get up the courage to ask if I could try one, but Pearl’s husband came with the car.
I took the bus down the mountain, then stopped at a GS (convenience store) for dinner. The restaurants were just too crowded, and I was too tired to figure out the menus (in Korean). I bought some lunch meat, but had to eat it with no bread. I also purchased some nuts, a snack or two, and water. I went back to my hotel room, and curled up with THE DA VINCI CODE.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the camera man on top for a sense of scale.
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the cameraman on top for a sense of scale.
As I strolled along the park, a couple of middle-aged ladies approached me and asked if they could walk with me for a pace. This is quite common in Korea – if you look white, people want to practice their English on you. I usually comply with such requests, and this was no exception. The ladies explained that they were “volunteers,” and appeared to be associated with the park. Many park docents are, in fact, unpaid volunteers. We chit-chatted about this and that and they inevitably asked about my religion. The town was full of people who were in town to celebrate Buddha’s birthday; in fact there was a temple across the street from the park. Gyeongju is the center of Korean Buddhism, so this question did not seem too odd to me. Not wanting to be mistaken for the weird hippie-type Westerner, I gently explained I was a Christian, not a Buddhist. This seemed to impress them, and the subject was dropped. We stopped to take a picture, and then I began to go on my way. Before I left, we exchanged information - again, a politeness in Korea. It is very rude to refuse contact information. Then the bomb dropped, “I would like you to read this magazine and tell me what you think about it. I will contact you later on this week."
They were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I have got to give them credit. I am so used to acting “Korean polite” that I didn’t see it coming. Not only this, but they did it virtually on the doorstep of a Buddhist temple. That takes some guts, and I admire that. One of the ladies did contact me, but I did not respond.
I continued on towards the center of the park, and promptly ran into a gaggle of young children, shepherded by their weary teachers. Each group was neatly “color-coded” by uniform - a handy thing when you are responsible for 40 children in your group! The colors also appeared to correspond somewhat to age group – yellow and orange for preschool/kindergarten, pink for 3rd grade, etc. The children were relatively quiet until a silent signal was released from the teachers. Then, the children began doing what children do - run around like lunatics. I walked near the older group for a bit, and one of the male teachers spoke surprisingly good English. He was very interested in conversing further, but his duties interfered.
I went towards the bathroom, and groaned as I saw a line of children in front of me. The children got very excited when they saw me, and began babbling at me in Korean. The female teacher in charge tentatively approached me, and asked if I would pose for a picture. The noisy tots (about 5-6 years old) gathered around me eagerly, and I made bunny ears over their dark little heads as the camera flashed. Then they babbled at me some more, “hello, thank you, hi” being the extent of their English. One of the more silent ones looked up at me in wonder, and exclaimed “Ajuma!” (Wow, you look like middle-aged!) I looked down at him and said, equally seriously,
“Ajuma?! Anio!” (Old woman? Nooo!)
The crowd rippled with excitement.
“Hangul?” “Hangul!” (She speaks Korean! Woah!)
Great fun.
nbsp;
I soon left, and headed out of the gate on the other side of the park. I wandered down the village streets for awhile, trying to get my bearings. As I went down the main drag, someone frantically called out to me, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I turned around, and saw a well dressed middle-aged woman in heels chasing me down. Out of breath, she panted, ”May I talk with you?”
Oh great. Another one.
She then explained, “I came into town with my husband on business. We just finished lunch, and he just... dropped me off here. Can I talk to you and walk with you for awhile? I don’t know what to do until my husband picks me up…I think I will be bored…”
Korean women, especially of a certain class, do not know how to travel alone. As we were in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much of a town, I took pity on her, and allowed her to join me. “Pearl” turned out to be a good companion; she even insisted on paying my way a bit. In America, I would be suspicious, but there was something about her that spoke of a fragile honesty.
Pearl often traveled with her husband, but he had a tendency to drop her off in random places (“Have a good time, dear!”). In a country where no one even goes to the bathroom alone (even sharing bathroom stalls), this is a scary thing. As we chatted, I got to know a bit more about her life. She had a teenage son studying at boarding school in Australia, and a 14 year old at home (who kept calling her). She “helped her husband” with his business, but I took this to be code-word for “housewife.”
We went across a field to the Cheomseongdae Observatory, one of the oldest of its kind still standing in Asia. There we met one of the volunteer guides, a man who said everyone called him “Grandpa Choi.” He clearly enjoyed his “job,” giving lengthy details about the mathematical reasoning behind the stone structure. It was a clever system of season, day, and cycle counting, a system I couldn’t even begin to relate. The structure did survive several massive earthquakes, establishing Korea’s reputation at the time for brick-making. Even now, the masonry has held up amazingly well; not a stone was missing or out of place:
After we left, we crossed the street to a bakery that served Gyeongju’s specialty, a sort of barley-bread sandwich stuffed with red bean paste. It was tasty, but not spectacular.
We then boarded a bus to go up to Bulgaksa Temple, a UNESCO World-Heritage sight. As it was Buddha’s birthday, the temple was lavishly decorated with paper lanterns and lotus flowers:
This ancient pagoda is featured on the back of the "10 Won" piece (about ten cents):
I was especially intrigued by the “mini-pagodas,” which serve as wishes or prayers. These piles of rocks are man-made, and have deep symbolism for Buddhists:
A very resourceful individual used a convenient tree to build a taller pagoda:
Tree Pagoda
Even the god of music looks like someone you would not like to cross:
We were not allowed to take photos inside the temples, so I did not get any shots of the Buddhas here.
Pearl’s husband finally called wondering where she was. I didn’t understand the cell phone conversation of course, but the tone of voice sounded like this:
Husband: You are WHERE?! Up the mountain at a temple?! (She was Christian)
Wife: You think I was going to wait around for you all day?
Husband: (Sigh) All right, I will come get you.
As we waited, we stopped at a food stall. Pearl then proceeded to buy what can only be described as a Korean delicacy – cooked silkworm larvae. I have never actually seen people buy these things, let alone eat them, although they are readily available in any street market. My students either absolutely love them, or think they are gross (“Ewww, fried worms!”) They smell like burning tires, and look like, well, cooked larvae. Apparently you spear the suckers with a toothpick; a young couple was lovingly spooning them into each others’ mouths at the bus stop…I tried to get up the courage to ask if I could try one, but Pearl’s husband came with the car.
I took the bus down the mountain, then stopped at a GS (convenience store) for dinner. The restaurants were just too crowded, and I was too tired to figure out the menus (in Korean). I bought some lunch meat, but had to eat it with no bread. I also purchased some nuts, a snack or two, and water. I went back to my hotel room, and curled up with THE DA VINCI CODE.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part I
I arrived in Gyeongju on May 3, 2006, not certain what I would find. I took a late bus because I had been through a job interview earlier that afternoon. The bus journey was quite uneventful, except that it was a four hour ride with no bathroom. Naturally, I had to go, even though I had not had any liquid for hours. It would be a very Korean thing to do - take a four hour bus-ride without stopping - the Koreans are very stoic about suffering. Fortunately, two hours into the trip, we stopped at this waystation. You couldn’t miss this tourist kiosk, that’s for certain:
Tourist Kiosk
When I arrived, I noticed the bus station was not terribly well-lit, and it was clearly a more interesting part of town. The characters one might expect to meet in such a place are the same no matter what part of the world you are in; at 10 p.m., things looked a bit dodgy. I scanned my map, and discovered I had gotten off at the wrong bus stop; there is the Express Bus Terminal and the Intercity Bus Terminal. I got off at the Intercity, but my map was for the other one. My Korean wasn’t up to “bus terminal” but the lady at the bread counter indicated that it was a LOOONG walk. The scale on my map was missing, so after calling a friend, I asked a taxi driver where my hotel (x marks the spot) and/or the other bus terminal was. He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction for the bus terminal, then peered at my map carefully, using the headlights for a light. He asked his colleagues, but no one could tell me where I needed to go. Korean streets don’t always have names.
Frustrated, I began stumbling to the “love motel” row behind the bus station. I grew increasingly uneasy as I wandered through this part of the city; it was very dark, and the “ladies” had already left their “calling cards” propped up on the steps of the motels. One particularly garish hotel caught my eye. “Oooh, over the top,” I thought absently, observing the plush velvet stairs decked with photos of the local delicacies. I passed it, crossed my fingers, and went down a side street. I found myself back where I started, at the Intercity terminal. Two university-aged students came and offered their assistance. I never got their names, but one of them had a crazy tie that clashed nicely with his rock t-shirt. The other one zigzagged ahead down the street, leaving us in his dust. Suddenly he shouted, “Yo gi oh” (over there!). It was the “over the top” love motel with the stairs. If I had just looked up and read the Korean sign, I would have known that. So much for problem-solving.
With much smiling and bowing, the boys left me (probably wondering about my reputation!) on the steps of my love palace. The staff turned out to be very pleasant, and actually remembered my reservation – a rarity in Korea, as Koreans never plan ahead. The room was small, but well-appointed, with a large screen t.v., a wide bed, and “his ‘n hers” hangers. There were at least three boxes of Kleenex “for clean-up” in the amenities, “special” lotion, bottled water in the fridge, but alas, no condoms. When I flipped the light switch, the room was bathed in a glow of blacklight! After some fumbling around, I discovered the actual light switch!
There was one “Korean porn” channel, and, in my ever increasing interest in sex ed. in Korea, I decided to take time to see what it was about. Korean “porn” is actually quite tame compared to cable t.v. fare. Let’s just say if any of my students came across it, they would still be quite mystified as to “where babies come from.” This has a lot to do with censorship in Korea – T and A, but no frontal nudity below the waist. Actually, I’m not sure how anyone can get their jollies off this stuff as the “performers” are not remotely attractive even by Asian standards, and the videos are shot at peculiar angles. I flipped across a “shower scene” where the camera spent quite a bit of time on the lady’s legs; this would have been fine, except her legs were blotchy and scarred. Even so, the cameraman used as sexy an angle as he could. The women also tended to be a bit on the plump side, and, as I have mentioned before, overweight Korean women have CELLULITE. The men were exceptionally skinny, a fault which usually gets a man ribbed and ridiculed by his mates. A bigger and more cushioned body type is preferred by the ladies.
But maybe that was the point, a common man gets a woman, any woman. In many of the scenes, said woman was intoxicated to the point of compliance. Korean men are very shy unless intoxicated, what does this say about the women? As Westerners, we are horrified by the thought of a woman being taken advantage of in this fashion; American women are prone to cry “Rape!” at the least provocation. This is not a bad thing by any means, but it puts men in a certain position of powerlessness. Generally speaking, Koreans are introverts, and not prone to make waves; their powerlessness lies in their inability to communicate what they are REALLY feeling. It is only when the defences are down “after hours” that deals are made and broken between Korean business men. Maybe the same can be said about sexual relations.
Tourist Kiosk
When I arrived, I noticed the bus station was not terribly well-lit, and it was clearly a more interesting part of town. The characters one might expect to meet in such a place are the same no matter what part of the world you are in; at 10 p.m., things looked a bit dodgy. I scanned my map, and discovered I had gotten off at the wrong bus stop; there is the Express Bus Terminal and the Intercity Bus Terminal. I got off at the Intercity, but my map was for the other one. My Korean wasn’t up to “bus terminal” but the lady at the bread counter indicated that it was a LOOONG walk. The scale on my map was missing, so after calling a friend, I asked a taxi driver where my hotel (x marks the spot) and/or the other bus terminal was. He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction for the bus terminal, then peered at my map carefully, using the headlights for a light. He asked his colleagues, but no one could tell me where I needed to go. Korean streets don’t always have names.
Frustrated, I began stumbling to the “love motel” row behind the bus station. I grew increasingly uneasy as I wandered through this part of the city; it was very dark, and the “ladies” had already left their “calling cards” propped up on the steps of the motels. One particularly garish hotel caught my eye. “Oooh, over the top,” I thought absently, observing the plush velvet stairs decked with photos of the local delicacies. I passed it, crossed my fingers, and went down a side street. I found myself back where I started, at the Intercity terminal. Two university-aged students came and offered their assistance. I never got their names, but one of them had a crazy tie that clashed nicely with his rock t-shirt. The other one zigzagged ahead down the street, leaving us in his dust. Suddenly he shouted, “Yo gi oh” (over there!). It was the “over the top” love motel with the stairs. If I had just looked up and read the Korean sign, I would have known that. So much for problem-solving.
With much smiling and bowing, the boys left me (probably wondering about my reputation!) on the steps of my love palace. The staff turned out to be very pleasant, and actually remembered my reservation – a rarity in Korea, as Koreans never plan ahead. The room was small, but well-appointed, with a large screen t.v., a wide bed, and “his ‘n hers” hangers. There were at least three boxes of Kleenex “for clean-up” in the amenities, “special” lotion, bottled water in the fridge, but alas, no condoms. When I flipped the light switch, the room was bathed in a glow of blacklight! After some fumbling around, I discovered the actual light switch!
There was one “Korean porn” channel, and, in my ever increasing interest in sex ed. in Korea, I decided to take time to see what it was about. Korean “porn” is actually quite tame compared to cable t.v. fare. Let’s just say if any of my students came across it, they would still be quite mystified as to “where babies come from.” This has a lot to do with censorship in Korea – T and A, but no frontal nudity below the waist. Actually, I’m not sure how anyone can get their jollies off this stuff as the “performers” are not remotely attractive even by Asian standards, and the videos are shot at peculiar angles. I flipped across a “shower scene” where the camera spent quite a bit of time on the lady’s legs; this would have been fine, except her legs were blotchy and scarred. Even so, the cameraman used as sexy an angle as he could. The women also tended to be a bit on the plump side, and, as I have mentioned before, overweight Korean women have CELLULITE. The men were exceptionally skinny, a fault which usually gets a man ribbed and ridiculed by his mates. A bigger and more cushioned body type is preferred by the ladies.
But maybe that was the point, a common man gets a woman, any woman. In many of the scenes, said woman was intoxicated to the point of compliance. Korean men are very shy unless intoxicated, what does this say about the women? As Westerners, we are horrified by the thought of a woman being taken advantage of in this fashion; American women are prone to cry “Rape!” at the least provocation. This is not a bad thing by any means, but it puts men in a certain position of powerlessness. Generally speaking, Koreans are introverts, and not prone to make waves; their powerlessness lies in their inability to communicate what they are REALLY feeling. It is only when the defences are down “after hours” that deals are made and broken between Korean business men. Maybe the same can be said about sexual relations.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
NOTES: The Baby Story
This is a continuation of my earlier discussion of sex education in Korea, so bear with me. I have done a bit of research, and found an older article on the subject at:
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2003/03/14/MN19286.DTL
I was basically right on target, except for a few details. First of all, Korea still has one of the lowest AIDS rates in Asia. The strain is specifically known as "the Korean" strain, and is being spread almost exclusively through sexual contact. Needle-sharing is uncommon, and so is homosexuality. Although initially introduced by a sex worker who plied her trade on a U.S. military base, it is now spread from Korean to Korean.
Condom use is still not high; I have been told that this is because the Korean brands are made of very thick and uncomfortably tight latex. The Korean men I have spoken to (they will only talk about it if they are drunk) say they prefer to buy American brands, even though they are a little too big...I have no direct experience of this, so I will have to take their word for it.
Here is an exerpt from the above-mentioned article:
Changing attitude toward sex threatens South Korea
Growing promiscuity, lack of education may lead to
increase in AIDS, experts sayBobby McGill, Chronicle Foreign Service
Friday, March 14, 2003
Health officials say reluctance to use condoms,
a rise in infections among homosexuals, an increase
in young Koreans' sexual activities and lack of
information about contraception are likely factors
that could lead to a significant increase in HIV
infections in future years.
"Korea needs to be shocked by someone famous with
the disease, like the United States with Rock Hudson,"
said Kwon. "Maybe then parents will see the importance
of talking about it at home."
The government now offers a Web site with AIDS
information, a 24-hour hot- line and free AIDS tests.
The National Institute of Health also plans to install
18,000 condom vending machines at major nightspots
throughout the country and at "every possible location
we can," said Kwon.
Recognizing the reluctance of parents to address AIDS,
sexuality and especially contraception, a government
campaign encourages middle school and high school
teachers to lead candid discussions with their students
about the consequences of unprotected sex.
Starting at the middle school level, students are taught
about abstinence and safe sex practices. But critics
say the depth of classroom discussions depends on the
willingness of individual teachers to broach the subject.
Students say some would rather show anatomical charts
and tame videos than preside over a frank discussion.
Saets Byul Choi, a 16-year-old high school student from
the industrial city of Ansan, just south of Seoul,
recalled a recent video shown at her school.
"It was about a man and a woman who fall in love and get
married. They get into the bed fully dressed and the
screen goes black," she said. "When they return to the
screen, the woman has a big stomach."
Yet, clearly, babies do happen. It is spring in Seoul, and babies are almost as abundant as the spring flowers. Women carry their babies in a blanket sling, rather than a baby carrier. These bundles of joy are just that; they grow like tumors on hapless female backs. They appear to be comfortable, and flirt with passing strangers over their mothers' (and grandmothers') backs. I get lots of stares and an occasional grin on the subway when their mothers are otherwise distracted.
Trendy mothers carry their babies in front-slings, as was popular in the mid-eighties in America. Father's carry young children in their arms more often, although the less dignified (and typically younger) fathers also use the front sling. I have never seen a baby carrier in Korea, though I do see the occasional "pram."
Today I got to hold one of the little Korean babies. I went to my usual sandwich shop, and one of the employee's relatives brought her baby in. As it was a little slow, the baby got passed around among the employees. Even Mr. Pak, who can be a bit stiff and formal, picked up the child and crowed at it. I finished my lunch, picked up my bag, and walked out the door.
The mother, who appeared to be very young, handed the baby off to her sister. I said "Anyung" (hello) to the baby in passing, who appeared to be about three months old, and was startled when he gave me a toothless grin. I put my finger out, and was surprised at the grip the little guy had. He was apparently older than I thought, because he reached for me. Before I could say a word, he got passed to me.
Now, an American mother would never pass a baby to a random stranger, especially one who was not expecting it. Fortunately, he was strong and able to hold himself upright and move about. I wondered how old he actually was; his mother was very small so perhaps he was just undersized. After "making friends," I bounced him around and "flew him" gently (which got another toothless grin)up and down. He loved this, and so did his grateful mother (who looked very tired).
I have not held a baby for over a year, and it was bittersweet for me. I find it very painful, and try to avoid it because I may never have one of my own; the thought hurts me more than I can bear. At the same time, it felt so good to hold a new life in my own hands. Yesteday, I held a puppy at the subway station; today I held a person. Of course, the little kids at work "tackle hug" me; Korean children are very affectionate and demonstrative. It is not the same, however. Am I seeing "dancing babies" already? Or is it just spring?
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2003/03/14/MN19286.DTL
I was basically right on target, except for a few details. First of all, Korea still has one of the lowest AIDS rates in Asia. The strain is specifically known as "the Korean" strain, and is being spread almost exclusively through sexual contact. Needle-sharing is uncommon, and so is homosexuality. Although initially introduced by a sex worker who plied her trade on a U.S. military base, it is now spread from Korean to Korean.
Condom use is still not high; I have been told that this is because the Korean brands are made of very thick and uncomfortably tight latex. The Korean men I have spoken to (they will only talk about it if they are drunk) say they prefer to buy American brands, even though they are a little too big...I have no direct experience of this, so I will have to take their word for it.
Here is an exerpt from the above-mentioned article:
Changing attitude toward sex threatens South Korea
Growing promiscuity, lack of education may lead to
increase in AIDS, experts sayBobby McGill, Chronicle Foreign Service
Friday, March 14, 2003
Health officials say reluctance to use condoms,
a rise in infections among homosexuals, an increase
in young Koreans' sexual activities and lack of
information about contraception are likely factors
that could lead to a significant increase in HIV
infections in future years.
"Korea needs to be shocked by someone famous with
the disease, like the United States with Rock Hudson,"
said Kwon. "Maybe then parents will see the importance
of talking about it at home."
The government now offers a Web site with AIDS
information, a 24-hour hot- line and free AIDS tests.
The National Institute of Health also plans to install
18,000 condom vending machines at major nightspots
throughout the country and at "every possible location
we can," said Kwon.
Recognizing the reluctance of parents to address AIDS,
sexuality and especially contraception, a government
campaign encourages middle school and high school
teachers to lead candid discussions with their students
about the consequences of unprotected sex.
Starting at the middle school level, students are taught
about abstinence and safe sex practices. But critics
say the depth of classroom discussions depends on the
willingness of individual teachers to broach the subject.
Students say some would rather show anatomical charts
and tame videos than preside over a frank discussion.
Saets Byul Choi, a 16-year-old high school student from
the industrial city of Ansan, just south of Seoul,
recalled a recent video shown at her school.
"It was about a man and a woman who fall in love and get
married. They get into the bed fully dressed and the
screen goes black," she said. "When they return to the
screen, the woman has a big stomach."
Yet, clearly, babies do happen. It is spring in Seoul, and babies are almost as abundant as the spring flowers. Women carry their babies in a blanket sling, rather than a baby carrier. These bundles of joy are just that; they grow like tumors on hapless female backs. They appear to be comfortable, and flirt with passing strangers over their mothers' (and grandmothers') backs. I get lots of stares and an occasional grin on the subway when their mothers are otherwise distracted.
Trendy mothers carry their babies in front-slings, as was popular in the mid-eighties in America. Father's carry young children in their arms more often, although the less dignified (and typically younger) fathers also use the front sling. I have never seen a baby carrier in Korea, though I do see the occasional "pram."
Today I got to hold one of the little Korean babies. I went to my usual sandwich shop, and one of the employee's relatives brought her baby in. As it was a little slow, the baby got passed around among the employees. Even Mr. Pak, who can be a bit stiff and formal, picked up the child and crowed at it. I finished my lunch, picked up my bag, and walked out the door.
The mother, who appeared to be very young, handed the baby off to her sister. I said "Anyung" (hello) to the baby in passing, who appeared to be about three months old, and was startled when he gave me a toothless grin. I put my finger out, and was surprised at the grip the little guy had. He was apparently older than I thought, because he reached for me. Before I could say a word, he got passed to me.
Now, an American mother would never pass a baby to a random stranger, especially one who was not expecting it. Fortunately, he was strong and able to hold himself upright and move about. I wondered how old he actually was; his mother was very small so perhaps he was just undersized. After "making friends," I bounced him around and "flew him" gently (which got another toothless grin)up and down. He loved this, and so did his grateful mother (who looked very tired).
I have not held a baby for over a year, and it was bittersweet for me. I find it very painful, and try to avoid it because I may never have one of my own; the thought hurts me more than I can bear. At the same time, it felt so good to hold a new life in my own hands. Yesteday, I held a puppy at the subway station; today I held a person. Of course, the little kids at work "tackle hug" me; Korean children are very affectionate and demonstrative. It is not the same, however. Am I seeing "dancing babies" already? Or is it just spring?
Monday, April 17, 2006
JOURNAL: The Russians Are Coming...
There are many good reasons for visitors not to get into trouble in foreign lands. You can't speak the language, the government doesn't have any reason to listen to you, and you may or may not be given a fair hearing. These are basic things anyone travelling should be well aware of before trying to upset the locals. But what if the combatants are foreigners?
First of all, I was only there for the first part of the "incident." The rest was told to me by eye-witnesses; under cross-examination, their stories all checked with each other, so I am inclined to believe what happened, given my own experience earlier that evening.
One of my coworkers was having her birthday party in Apkujeong. Apkujeong, I must explain, is a district (sometimes called "Rodeo Drive") where the rich, famous, and trendy Seoulites (and others) like to shop, get plastic surgery, and drink. Overpriced botiques abound, overabundantly filled with the REAL Prada, Calvin Klein, Chanel, and Louis Vutton products that those-who-have love to purchase. I myself own some very nice fakes; my $10 "Prada" purse has more than once been taken for the real thing. Actually, I didn't even know it was a "Prada" until someone told me so; I just liked the interesting design (aligator leather, spikes, and a bow!). My rhinestone "diamond" Chanel watch also has passed muster.
You can also, for a reasonable price, get a "packagee" (Konglish), which I beleive includes a nose job, eye fold removal surgery (to look more Western - actually, it just makes Asians look permanently surprised) and Botox (ditto). The Deluxe Packagee includes a boob job. Hmmm....maybe I can get my extra "chin" (which I had even when ridiculously skinny) removed...
I have only been in Apkujeong a couple of times, but I have generally found the place a bit pretentious; I paid 10,000 won ($10) for an elaborately-presented fancy mug of...pre-powdered hot chocolate. Nevertheless, I decided to swallow my pride and go to the party at an Apkujeong club called "The Garden." I like this particular coworker quite a bit, and, even though still recovering from my bout with pnewmonia, I decided it was worth it to go.
I arrived there and my coworker's boyfriend, a very handsome and outgoing young man (especially for a Korean) graciously showed me the way. We went through what seemed to be a maze of stairs and hallways to a small club in the basement. It was nothing grand, but not a dive either. We went up another staircase, and into a room with chairs and tables behind a glass wall. You could look down at the dancers on the floor from behind the glass. These rooms completely encircled the dance floor, but the noise level was much more conducive for talking.
Ladies got in free, and after 11, drinks were two for one. I later discovered that this special did not include water...I asked for bottled water, but the bartender heard "Budweiser." I tried to argue with her, but she just looked puzzled, then feigned that she did not speak English (I heard her later doing just that). I HATE Budweiser, and I only really wanted water, but it was cold, and strangely refreshing. In for a penny, in for a pound, and I nursed two Long-Island Iced teas for three hours. My big meal helped with this. At the price, I figured they were charging me for two anyways.
With all the "let's go clubbing" talk going around earlier, no one actually danced. There were surprisingly many foreigners of many different nationalities mingling freely and speaking English. There were a few handsome Persian businessmen, a Spainiard, a random Indian or two, and a couple of Russians. There were decidedly more men than women; most of the women were in fact, in our group. Many of my coworkers are very attractive women in their own right, but they are not fashionably so. One girl is blond, strongly built, and well over 6 foot three. She has a vivacious personality which makes her beautiful in many conventional men's eyes. We had a red-head, a brunette with pale skin, and various Korean girls whom I didn't know. I felt like a dud, actually.
One of the Korean women (forgot her name) turned out to be the sister of my trainer at the gym, and she was a stunner. Tall, slim, and with long black hair, she OWNED the room. She was completely low-key and down to earth; I chatted with her for some time, and found that she was very likeable. She spoke English with an Australian accent, which made her all the more charming. What really stood out was that she was tanned, and looked more Italian than Korean. Her brother is also dark (Koreans are light-complected). She was definately getting some looks, but didn't appear to be too interested.
I wandered about aimlessly; no one was looking at me after all, so I felt free to look at the "pretty people" in relative silence. Suddenly, one of my coworkers came charging up the stairs and said, "You'll never guess who just walked in!"
"Who?"
"A group of women with legs up to HERE!" indicating her neck (she is shorter than I am).
With nothing better to do, I followed her down. Sure enough, a group of very tall, anorexically thin, and leggy Caucasian women stood in a group at the foot of the stairs. I observed them for awhile, and discovered they were speaking Russian. A well-groomed, well-muscled man ordered them about (in Russian), and they moved quickly and efficiently in their tight little group onto the dance floor. Eyes bulged and tongues panted out, but the ladies kept to themselves. I later learned that they were Russian models, presumably doing a shoot in Seoul.
I ran into them in the bathroom several times (side effect of the antibiotics). The
models obsessed over make-up, adjusting clothing lines, and looking snooty at the "commoners" using the stalls. I kept seeing one blonde in there - her barely present blouse kept riding up, exposing her prominent rib-cage and immaculately-waxed bikini line. She looked very hungry, and I felt a bit sorry for her. Until I ran into her alone.
On my last trip to the bathroom, I pulled out a lipstick. I discovered, to my horror, that it was REALLY the wrong shade, but, as I reasoned, the club was dark and no one would notice. Nevertheless, I went to one of the many mirrors in the trendy bathroom (think "Saturday Night Fever") and applied the pale shade as darkly as I could. I leaned over the sink, and suddenly realized that the girl was watching me. She was very tall, and towered over me in her spike heels. Not one word was exchanged, but she glared down at me with contempt. Her look confounded me, as I had not said a word to her, but it soon became apparent what the trouble was. The common little pansy was overshadowed by the brilliant and showy geranium, but dared to smile in the glow of her too-brilliant plummage. I calmly went about making my modest toilette; the queen would have to wait for her mirror (or use one of the other dozen in the room). I took my time, then left.
I left the club shortly after that; I do not belong in the world of pretty people. The girls in our group also elected to leave, and head for the college-town Hongdae club district. I made my excuses and taxied home.
Apparently, I missed the real fun. The group stayed out until 7 a.m., and a few of them spent some time in the police station. The beautiful Korean girl from Australia had apparently had one too many suitors, at least, until her burly trainer-brother showed up. The scuttlebutt is that he was VERY protective of his little sister, but also left before she did.
The lead up to the "main event" is a little hazy, as most people there were well in their cups, but at some point ANOTHER group of Russian women turned up. These ladies, it soon became apparent, were practitioners of the oldest trade in the world, and one of them did not take the unintentional competition from a pretty Korean girl well. The woman "accidentally" scratched the Korean girl on her face. Korean girl did not fight back, but calmly and collectedly asked for an apology. The woman absolutely refused, and Korean girl, after several more reasonable attempts to make peace rather than pick a fight, called the police. The "lady" called her "brother" from the police station, and when he came to pay the fine levied against her for public disturbance, absolutely berated and yelled at her. He forced the woman to apologize to the Korean girl, then carried his "sister" away, still spitting angry.
I am very glad, when it comes down to it, that I have a lawyer-friend who speaks the language; nevertheless, I hope I never find myself in that situation.
First of all, I was only there for the first part of the "incident." The rest was told to me by eye-witnesses; under cross-examination, their stories all checked with each other, so I am inclined to believe what happened, given my own experience earlier that evening.
One of my coworkers was having her birthday party in Apkujeong. Apkujeong, I must explain, is a district (sometimes called "Rodeo Drive") where the rich, famous, and trendy Seoulites (and others) like to shop, get plastic surgery, and drink. Overpriced botiques abound, overabundantly filled with the REAL Prada, Calvin Klein, Chanel, and Louis Vutton products that those-who-have love to purchase. I myself own some very nice fakes; my $10 "Prada" purse has more than once been taken for the real thing. Actually, I didn't even know it was a "Prada" until someone told me so; I just liked the interesting design (aligator leather, spikes, and a bow!). My rhinestone "diamond" Chanel watch also has passed muster.
You can also, for a reasonable price, get a "packagee" (Konglish), which I beleive includes a nose job, eye fold removal surgery (to look more Western - actually, it just makes Asians look permanently surprised) and Botox (ditto). The Deluxe Packagee includes a boob job. Hmmm....maybe I can get my extra "chin" (which I had even when ridiculously skinny) removed...
I have only been in Apkujeong a couple of times, but I have generally found the place a bit pretentious; I paid 10,000 won ($10) for an elaborately-presented fancy mug of...pre-powdered hot chocolate. Nevertheless, I decided to swallow my pride and go to the party at an Apkujeong club called "The Garden." I like this particular coworker quite a bit, and, even though still recovering from my bout with pnewmonia, I decided it was worth it to go.
I arrived there and my coworker's boyfriend, a very handsome and outgoing young man (especially for a Korean) graciously showed me the way. We went through what seemed to be a maze of stairs and hallways to a small club in the basement. It was nothing grand, but not a dive either. We went up another staircase, and into a room with chairs and tables behind a glass wall. You could look down at the dancers on the floor from behind the glass. These rooms completely encircled the dance floor, but the noise level was much more conducive for talking.
Ladies got in free, and after 11, drinks were two for one. I later discovered that this special did not include water...I asked for bottled water, but the bartender heard "Budweiser." I tried to argue with her, but she just looked puzzled, then feigned that she did not speak English (I heard her later doing just that). I HATE Budweiser, and I only really wanted water, but it was cold, and strangely refreshing. In for a penny, in for a pound, and I nursed two Long-Island Iced teas for three hours. My big meal helped with this. At the price, I figured they were charging me for two anyways.
With all the "let's go clubbing" talk going around earlier, no one actually danced. There were surprisingly many foreigners of many different nationalities mingling freely and speaking English. There were a few handsome Persian businessmen, a Spainiard, a random Indian or two, and a couple of Russians. There were decidedly more men than women; most of the women were in fact, in our group. Many of my coworkers are very attractive women in their own right, but they are not fashionably so. One girl is blond, strongly built, and well over 6 foot three. She has a vivacious personality which makes her beautiful in many conventional men's eyes. We had a red-head, a brunette with pale skin, and various Korean girls whom I didn't know. I felt like a dud, actually.
One of the Korean women (forgot her name) turned out to be the sister of my trainer at the gym, and she was a stunner. Tall, slim, and with long black hair, she OWNED the room. She was completely low-key and down to earth; I chatted with her for some time, and found that she was very likeable. She spoke English with an Australian accent, which made her all the more charming. What really stood out was that she was tanned, and looked more Italian than Korean. Her brother is also dark (Koreans are light-complected). She was definately getting some looks, but didn't appear to be too interested.
I wandered about aimlessly; no one was looking at me after all, so I felt free to look at the "pretty people" in relative silence. Suddenly, one of my coworkers came charging up the stairs and said, "You'll never guess who just walked in!"
"Who?"
"A group of women with legs up to HERE!" indicating her neck (she is shorter than I am).
With nothing better to do, I followed her down. Sure enough, a group of very tall, anorexically thin, and leggy Caucasian women stood in a group at the foot of the stairs. I observed them for awhile, and discovered they were speaking Russian. A well-groomed, well-muscled man ordered them about (in Russian), and they moved quickly and efficiently in their tight little group onto the dance floor. Eyes bulged and tongues panted out, but the ladies kept to themselves. I later learned that they were Russian models, presumably doing a shoot in Seoul.
I ran into them in the bathroom several times (side effect of the antibiotics). The
models obsessed over make-up, adjusting clothing lines, and looking snooty at the "commoners" using the stalls. I kept seeing one blonde in there - her barely present blouse kept riding up, exposing her prominent rib-cage and immaculately-waxed bikini line. She looked very hungry, and I felt a bit sorry for her. Until I ran into her alone.
On my last trip to the bathroom, I pulled out a lipstick. I discovered, to my horror, that it was REALLY the wrong shade, but, as I reasoned, the club was dark and no one would notice. Nevertheless, I went to one of the many mirrors in the trendy bathroom (think "Saturday Night Fever") and applied the pale shade as darkly as I could. I leaned over the sink, and suddenly realized that the girl was watching me. She was very tall, and towered over me in her spike heels. Not one word was exchanged, but she glared down at me with contempt. Her look confounded me, as I had not said a word to her, but it soon became apparent what the trouble was. The common little pansy was overshadowed by the brilliant and showy geranium, but dared to smile in the glow of her too-brilliant plummage. I calmly went about making my modest toilette; the queen would have to wait for her mirror (or use one of the other dozen in the room). I took my time, then left.
I left the club shortly after that; I do not belong in the world of pretty people. The girls in our group also elected to leave, and head for the college-town Hongdae club district. I made my excuses and taxied home.
Apparently, I missed the real fun. The group stayed out until 7 a.m., and a few of them spent some time in the police station. The beautiful Korean girl from Australia had apparently had one too many suitors, at least, until her burly trainer-brother showed up. The scuttlebutt is that he was VERY protective of his little sister, but also left before she did.
The lead up to the "main event" is a little hazy, as most people there were well in their cups, but at some point ANOTHER group of Russian women turned up. These ladies, it soon became apparent, were practitioners of the oldest trade in the world, and one of them did not take the unintentional competition from a pretty Korean girl well. The woman "accidentally" scratched the Korean girl on her face. Korean girl did not fight back, but calmly and collectedly asked for an apology. The woman absolutely refused, and Korean girl, after several more reasonable attempts to make peace rather than pick a fight, called the police. The "lady" called her "brother" from the police station, and when he came to pay the fine levied against her for public disturbance, absolutely berated and yelled at her. He forced the woman to apologize to the Korean girl, then carried his "sister" away, still spitting angry.
I am very glad, when it comes down to it, that I have a lawyer-friend who speaks the language; nevertheless, I hope I never find myself in that situation.
Monday, April 10, 2006
JOURNAL: Miracle of Life?
Something that keeps coming up at the oddest moments has finally provoked me to discuss a subject I have broached before. I bring it up again because a. it both puzzles me and frightenes me and b. it keeps coming up in my conversations with Korean women. Call me Margaret Meade. It is Korean men and women's ignorance about their own bodies.
Remember that, just a few months ago, there was a scandal attached to a professor at a prestigious university in Seoul, a man who fudged his own research in regards to stem-cell research. How did this fact get by so many people on his project? You may well ask. Given the complete ignorance about human reproduction I have encountered among well-educated and otherwise intelligent Korean adults, I am no longer surprised. This does not even only cover the more...er...earthly aspects, I am talking simple cell division, DNA, and the life cycle of cells.
First, let us discuss the touchy issue of sex education in American public schools. I see nothing wrong with teaching a few basic facts about how babies are made, birth-control, and the amazing miracle of conception; someone likened it to the odds of 1078 blind people solving a Rubik's cube at the same exact moment!By about fifth grade, the average American child (especially if they have cable tv) has a rough idea about where babies come from. The details are a little hazy; this can be problem if incorrect guidance is provided through the dubious avenuse of peers, television, or older siblings. Educators are well-trained to deal with the more technical aspects, and should be given a chance to offer cold, hard facts. What my parents didn't cover I learned through my sixth grade science teacher.
My parents were quite open all through my childhood about information concerning where babies come from, though I was a bit confused about when my mother told me (at age 8) that some women "sold their body to men." I innocently thought this was a good thing; there are many accident victims out there missing body parts after all who might want a new arm or leg. But I digress... My point being I had a general idea of what went where, and that what went up must come down...presto chango - a new life.
My church took our sixth grade girl's group through the ubiqitous (in the fundamentalist Christian childhood of the 80s) Dr. Jame's Dobson's "Preparing for Adolescence." I was already prematurely developed, so none of the information about periods, breasts, or copulation was new to me. He was very vague on spiritual issues, I found, and I'm afraid he left me more confused than enlightened. That was my problem with Fundamental Baptist Christianity, "Because God said so."
The other milestone of my knowledge was a video shown on NOVA in the mid-eighties. I had a childhood addiction to science programs, and my mother watched this "new documentary" with me; I must have been about 8 or 9. It was, as you may have guessed, "The Miracle of Life," a still-wonderful and astounding video of the process of life from conception to birth. There was nothing titilating or sexy about it; we watch the sex act from INSIDE the woman rather than externally, though the film ends in a graphic filming of the birth of this being we have watched from conception to live birth. The photography is astounding, and it is because of this film I became rather strongly pro-life (except in cases of danger to mother).
The film was remade with updated technology in 2001, and was retitled "Life's Greatest Miracle." You can watch the new version at:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/miracle/
It has a TV-14 rating, so it is pretty safe.
In sixth grade public school, we separated boys from girls in Health class, and were allowed to ask questions. We did group work together on diagramming the reproduction system, and we were given a basic knowledge of the hydraulics (male) and receptors (female) involved in conception. No specific moralizing was done except to remind us that this sort of activity created pregnancy; we listned to a teenage mother speak about her experiences to drive home the point. Most of the education was basic - how to take care of your smelly, awkward, and weirdly-functioning adolescent body, why boys were weird, why girls were moody, how not to annoy each other too much, and group dating (in the late 80s, this was considered a safe way to interact between the sexes during the tween years without getting into too much trouble.)
In ninth grade biology, we went into more detail of the science of reproduction. We watched the "Miracle of Life" again, but, as I was in a prviate school, a little moralizing was done, albeit in a strange way. I had already seen the documentary, so I was unperturbed by the live birth scene. Some of my classmates, however, were quite traumatized. Instead of taking compassion on these poor girls, who never even knew how babies got into their belly, seeing one come out (remember, men, girls can't see their equipment without being trained contortioist with a hand-mirror) was quite frightening. Some of the girls cried or covered their eyes; the boys snickered or blushed. The teacher, instead of taking compassion on these students, rewound the tape, and played the live birth scene TWICE MORE. He then quietly said, "This is why you don't have sex before you are married." His point worked, because we only had two pregnancies in the class of 1994.
So, what kind of education do they get in Korea? Nothing. Nada. Zip. At least, as near as I can tell.
I spoke to a forty-something unmarried woman, who had only a vague sense as to how children came into this world. She was not embarrassed; she simply did not have a clue. This came out after a vague reference from a gyopo (Korean American) to the process of childbirth. None of the women (singles) even knew what he was talking about. I thought it was odd, but continued the conversation in another direction (defending a woman's right to gossip!) with the young man. The single older women looked puzzled, and I hesitatingly asked if they knew what we were talking about. They admitted that they were clueless. I gently explained that in some Western cultures, childbirth is openly discussed among women of a certain age, whether they have had children or not. Any gathering of close female friends will result in some discussion of this subject (see "Sex and the City"); in married women, it tends to be childbirth-oriented, rather than process-related. I then bluntly asked the oldest woman if she had ever learned about or seen a baby born. She said she hadn't. This conversation happened months ago, but it stuck in my head.
A rather Westernized Korean male friend of mine brought up the subject in a recent phone conversation. This person learned the facts of life through looking up things in the encyclopedia! No one told him why his body was acting crazy so he decided to find out. This man is well-educated and intelligent, so I was a bit taken aback when he asked what happened to the cord after birth. Where did it go? I was puzzled by this question for a minute.
"Does it go back up inside the woman?"
"WHAT?! You mean, you don't know? Where do you think we get a belly button?"
That stumped him.
"The cord comes out with the afterbirth...." I prompted.
Silence.
(What's that? He wondered).
Exasperated by this hole in his education (and slightly amused) I patiently and thoroughly explained the process in very scientific detail. I can't imagine going through thirty-something years of life wondering vaguely, how does the baby eat inside the mother? Why do we have belly buttons?
I then began to wonder about other adults. I got a clue tonight in my sixth grade writing class. A few of the kids who have been American-educated do know basics; I try to keep the topic out of my classroom, but it does spring up in odd ways. Kids are very curious at that age, and Korea does them a great disservice by not explaining things. I have developing adolescents in grade five as well (they start school a little later) so these poor children must be traumatized by their crazy bodies. Tonight we were talking about where people were born. Some were born in Korea, but others were born in America or Europe. One girl piped up and said,
"I was born three weeks early."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, I was born at nine months, not ten."
I absently corrected her.
"Then you were born on time. Women carry babies for nine months."
"No. Babies are inside their mother's stomachs for ten months. I was too early, and they had to cut my mother open to get me out."
To my surprise, other girls in the room agreed with her about ten months. Now, I know Koreans reckon birthdays differently (you are considered a year old when you are born) but they count months the same way. Another girl piped in and said,
"Yeah. My mother and father didn't even have birth dreams before I was born."
Puzzled, I asked her what she meant.
"You know, when you dream that you are going to have a baby. How else are you going to know you are pregnant?" (Uh, big stomach?)
One girl described seeing a woman give birth on a plane; the baby came out from under the woman's skirt after a burst of water. That must have been a sight for a child.
I abruptly changed the subject to get out of the danger zone; this particular group really trusts me and confides in me, and I was afraid of the trouble I could get in. They do not hesistate to ask awkward questions.
Given the stigma attached to unwed pregnancy, it seems to me Korea should focus on arming its teenagers against ignorant mistakes. Unwanted babies are simply aborted, but if young women don't know how they get pregnant in the first place, shouldn't they be told?
I have seen more than one late night "alternative" Korean movie about the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy. A high school girl, upon hearing the news, jumps headfirst off a school building while her classmates watch in calm disdain. A guilty young father tries to raise money for an abortion. He is too late however; his girlfriend aborts herself in a bathroom stall, and dies in his arms.
One movie in particular haunted me. In it, a girl goes into a rather dingy abortion clinic. She lays on the table in her hospital gown in a dark room. The camera follows her eye movements; she scans the room, the tray of instruments, the monitor, and finally she comes to rest on the suction pail for almost a full minute. Her eyes go wide, and a silent tear rolls down her cheek. Blackout. The movie follows her with compassion as she recovers; the best friend of her boyfriend cooks seaweed soup for her (a Korean remedy for childbirth - very nutritious I am told), entertains her, and even changes her sheets. She is silent for most of the rest of the movie. Naturally, the boyfriend is nowhere to be found.
The Korean government keeps harping on the "low birthrate" in the country. Women are waiting to have children like their American counterparts, so the government is sponsoring incentives to promote pregnancy. Nature always finds a way to bring life, but I question how much of it might be snuffed out before it begins. It seems to me that knowing how the body works might be one way to control this problem. American women, for example, know that there is a window of time in their cycle where they are likely to get pregnant. Accordingly, they adjust their nocturnal activities to either avoid the danger zone, or embrace it. Would this scientific knowledge help at all? On the other hand, STDs are the lowest in the world; I suspect this is because they go unreported. There is qutie a bit of marital unfaithfulness going on. How many women are infected, don't know it (no one goes to the OB/GYN unless they are pregnant), and are accordingly infertile due to their spouse's unfaithfulness?
Public health campaigns work WELL here. Children and adults dutifully march to the bathroom with their toothbrushes after every meal, diet crazes are obsessively followed (I love the sweet potato diet!), and everyone takes their vitamins. Maybe a public health campaign for reproductive issues might be in order.
Remember that, just a few months ago, there was a scandal attached to a professor at a prestigious university in Seoul, a man who fudged his own research in regards to stem-cell research. How did this fact get by so many people on his project? You may well ask. Given the complete ignorance about human reproduction I have encountered among well-educated and otherwise intelligent Korean adults, I am no longer surprised. This does not even only cover the more...er...earthly aspects, I am talking simple cell division, DNA, and the life cycle of cells.
First, let us discuss the touchy issue of sex education in American public schools. I see nothing wrong with teaching a few basic facts about how babies are made, birth-control, and the amazing miracle of conception; someone likened it to the odds of 1078 blind people solving a Rubik's cube at the same exact moment!By about fifth grade, the average American child (especially if they have cable tv) has a rough idea about where babies come from. The details are a little hazy; this can be problem if incorrect guidance is provided through the dubious avenuse of peers, television, or older siblings. Educators are well-trained to deal with the more technical aspects, and should be given a chance to offer cold, hard facts. What my parents didn't cover I learned through my sixth grade science teacher.
My parents were quite open all through my childhood about information concerning where babies come from, though I was a bit confused about when my mother told me (at age 8) that some women "sold their body to men." I innocently thought this was a good thing; there are many accident victims out there missing body parts after all who might want a new arm or leg. But I digress... My point being I had a general idea of what went where, and that what went up must come down...presto chango - a new life.
My church took our sixth grade girl's group through the ubiqitous (in the fundamentalist Christian childhood of the 80s) Dr. Jame's Dobson's "Preparing for Adolescence." I was already prematurely developed, so none of the information about periods, breasts, or copulation was new to me. He was very vague on spiritual issues, I found, and I'm afraid he left me more confused than enlightened. That was my problem with Fundamental Baptist Christianity, "Because God said so."
The other milestone of my knowledge was a video shown on NOVA in the mid-eighties. I had a childhood addiction to science programs, and my mother watched this "new documentary" with me; I must have been about 8 or 9. It was, as you may have guessed, "The Miracle of Life," a still-wonderful and astounding video of the process of life from conception to birth. There was nothing titilating or sexy about it; we watch the sex act from INSIDE the woman rather than externally, though the film ends in a graphic filming of the birth of this being we have watched from conception to live birth. The photography is astounding, and it is because of this film I became rather strongly pro-life (except in cases of danger to mother).
The film was remade with updated technology in 2001, and was retitled "Life's Greatest Miracle." You can watch the new version at:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/miracle/
It has a TV-14 rating, so it is pretty safe.
In sixth grade public school, we separated boys from girls in Health class, and were allowed to ask questions. We did group work together on diagramming the reproduction system, and we were given a basic knowledge of the hydraulics (male) and receptors (female) involved in conception. No specific moralizing was done except to remind us that this sort of activity created pregnancy; we listned to a teenage mother speak about her experiences to drive home the point. Most of the education was basic - how to take care of your smelly, awkward, and weirdly-functioning adolescent body, why boys were weird, why girls were moody, how not to annoy each other too much, and group dating (in the late 80s, this was considered a safe way to interact between the sexes during the tween years without getting into too much trouble.)
In ninth grade biology, we went into more detail of the science of reproduction. We watched the "Miracle of Life" again, but, as I was in a prviate school, a little moralizing was done, albeit in a strange way. I had already seen the documentary, so I was unperturbed by the live birth scene. Some of my classmates, however, were quite traumatized. Instead of taking compassion on these poor girls, who never even knew how babies got into their belly, seeing one come out (remember, men, girls can't see their equipment without being trained contortioist with a hand-mirror) was quite frightening. Some of the girls cried or covered their eyes; the boys snickered or blushed. The teacher, instead of taking compassion on these students, rewound the tape, and played the live birth scene TWICE MORE. He then quietly said, "This is why you don't have sex before you are married." His point worked, because we only had two pregnancies in the class of 1994.
So, what kind of education do they get in Korea? Nothing. Nada. Zip. At least, as near as I can tell.
I spoke to a forty-something unmarried woman, who had only a vague sense as to how children came into this world. She was not embarrassed; she simply did not have a clue. This came out after a vague reference from a gyopo (Korean American) to the process of childbirth. None of the women (singles) even knew what he was talking about. I thought it was odd, but continued the conversation in another direction (defending a woman's right to gossip!) with the young man. The single older women looked puzzled, and I hesitatingly asked if they knew what we were talking about. They admitted that they were clueless. I gently explained that in some Western cultures, childbirth is openly discussed among women of a certain age, whether they have had children or not. Any gathering of close female friends will result in some discussion of this subject (see "Sex and the City"); in married women, it tends to be childbirth-oriented, rather than process-related. I then bluntly asked the oldest woman if she had ever learned about or seen a baby born. She said she hadn't. This conversation happened months ago, but it stuck in my head.
A rather Westernized Korean male friend of mine brought up the subject in a recent phone conversation. This person learned the facts of life through looking up things in the encyclopedia! No one told him why his body was acting crazy so he decided to find out. This man is well-educated and intelligent, so I was a bit taken aback when he asked what happened to the cord after birth. Where did it go? I was puzzled by this question for a minute.
"Does it go back up inside the woman?"
"WHAT?! You mean, you don't know? Where do you think we get a belly button?"
That stumped him.
"The cord comes out with the afterbirth...." I prompted.
Silence.
(What's that? He wondered).
Exasperated by this hole in his education (and slightly amused) I patiently and thoroughly explained the process in very scientific detail. I can't imagine going through thirty-something years of life wondering vaguely, how does the baby eat inside the mother? Why do we have belly buttons?
I then began to wonder about other adults. I got a clue tonight in my sixth grade writing class. A few of the kids who have been American-educated do know basics; I try to keep the topic out of my classroom, but it does spring up in odd ways. Kids are very curious at that age, and Korea does them a great disservice by not explaining things. I have developing adolescents in grade five as well (they start school a little later) so these poor children must be traumatized by their crazy bodies. Tonight we were talking about where people were born. Some were born in Korea, but others were born in America or Europe. One girl piped up and said,
"I was born three weeks early."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, I was born at nine months, not ten."
I absently corrected her.
"Then you were born on time. Women carry babies for nine months."
"No. Babies are inside their mother's stomachs for ten months. I was too early, and they had to cut my mother open to get me out."
To my surprise, other girls in the room agreed with her about ten months. Now, I know Koreans reckon birthdays differently (you are considered a year old when you are born) but they count months the same way. Another girl piped in and said,
"Yeah. My mother and father didn't even have birth dreams before I was born."
Puzzled, I asked her what she meant.
"You know, when you dream that you are going to have a baby. How else are you going to know you are pregnant?" (Uh, big stomach?)
One girl described seeing a woman give birth on a plane; the baby came out from under the woman's skirt after a burst of water. That must have been a sight for a child.
I abruptly changed the subject to get out of the danger zone; this particular group really trusts me and confides in me, and I was afraid of the trouble I could get in. They do not hesistate to ask awkward questions.
Given the stigma attached to unwed pregnancy, it seems to me Korea should focus on arming its teenagers against ignorant mistakes. Unwanted babies are simply aborted, but if young women don't know how they get pregnant in the first place, shouldn't they be told?
I have seen more than one late night "alternative" Korean movie about the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy. A high school girl, upon hearing the news, jumps headfirst off a school building while her classmates watch in calm disdain. A guilty young father tries to raise money for an abortion. He is too late however; his girlfriend aborts herself in a bathroom stall, and dies in his arms.
One movie in particular haunted me. In it, a girl goes into a rather dingy abortion clinic. She lays on the table in her hospital gown in a dark room. The camera follows her eye movements; she scans the room, the tray of instruments, the monitor, and finally she comes to rest on the suction pail for almost a full minute. Her eyes go wide, and a silent tear rolls down her cheek. Blackout. The movie follows her with compassion as she recovers; the best friend of her boyfriend cooks seaweed soup for her (a Korean remedy for childbirth - very nutritious I am told), entertains her, and even changes her sheets. She is silent for most of the rest of the movie. Naturally, the boyfriend is nowhere to be found.
The Korean government keeps harping on the "low birthrate" in the country. Women are waiting to have children like their American counterparts, so the government is sponsoring incentives to promote pregnancy. Nature always finds a way to bring life, but I question how much of it might be snuffed out before it begins. It seems to me that knowing how the body works might be one way to control this problem. American women, for example, know that there is a window of time in their cycle where they are likely to get pregnant. Accordingly, they adjust their nocturnal activities to either avoid the danger zone, or embrace it. Would this scientific knowledge help at all? On the other hand, STDs are the lowest in the world; I suspect this is because they go unreported. There is qutie a bit of marital unfaithfulness going on. How many women are infected, don't know it (no one goes to the OB/GYN unless they are pregnant), and are accordingly infertile due to their spouse's unfaithfulness?
Public health campaigns work WELL here. Children and adults dutifully march to the bathroom with their toothbrushes after every meal, diet crazes are obsessively followed (I love the sweet potato diet!), and everyone takes their vitamins. Maybe a public health campaign for reproductive issues might be in order.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
BOOK RECOMMENDATION: A New Category
It occured to me that, as I read a wide variety of books, to starT a book recommendation section in my blog. People are aLways asking me about what I am reading, so here it is.
1. THE AQUARIUMS OF PYONGYANG by Kang Chol-Hwan and Pierre Rigoulot
This memoir is a harrowing account of a boy and his stint (with his family) in a North Korean prison camp. It has nto had much success among S. Koreans, but Americans have been reading the book quite frequently. I picked up a copy and, pro-Bush enthusiasm aside (trading one dictator for another, I guess), this book is pretty fair-handed. The man who went throguh it now works for Seoul's daily newspaper, so he has excellent journalistic eye for detail.
2. THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY by Erik Larson
This book defies categorization, other than history. A very clever writer has taken two historical events and twined them together in one fascinating read. It is about the Chicago World Fair in 1893, and is also about a serial killer names Dr. Holmes who used the fair as his hunting ground.
3. STUPID WHITE MEN by Michael Moore
I have this one a try on a whim (and a cheap used book) and actually found the man had something to say. While I don't particularly agree with his answers, I do agree with the kinds of pointed questions he raises about the state of the union. He is vey humorous, if exasperating, about the political climate that gave us Bush, Jr.
1. THE AQUARIUMS OF PYONGYANG by Kang Chol-Hwan and Pierre Rigoulot
This memoir is a harrowing account of a boy and his stint (with his family) in a North Korean prison camp. It has nto had much success among S. Koreans, but Americans have been reading the book quite frequently. I picked up a copy and, pro-Bush enthusiasm aside (trading one dictator for another, I guess), this book is pretty fair-handed. The man who went throguh it now works for Seoul's daily newspaper, so he has excellent journalistic eye for detail.
2. THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY by Erik Larson
This book defies categorization, other than history. A very clever writer has taken two historical events and twined them together in one fascinating read. It is about the Chicago World Fair in 1893, and is also about a serial killer names Dr. Holmes who used the fair as his hunting ground.
3. STUPID WHITE MEN by Michael Moore
I have this one a try on a whim (and a cheap used book) and actually found the man had something to say. While I don't particularly agree with his answers, I do agree with the kinds of pointed questions he raises about the state of the union. He is vey humorous, if exasperating, about the political climate that gave us Bush, Jr.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
NOTES: Fat Floats
"I have found that over time I slowly began to let go of some of the ideas about what constituted weightloss success, which led to letting go of unrealistic expectations, which led to less guilt and self loathing for never reaching those goals, which led to a happier state of being and then this all led to a healthier lifestyle and ultimately weightloss. Not weightloss in a can, bottle, or box but weightloss in the truest spiritual sense. Now that my excess weight is not the priority in my life I find that I enjoy life more and this in turn makes me a happier person. Cure the mind and the ass will follow."
Steve Vaught
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
I was going to jump right into a three (?) part entry on the Korean education system tonight, but my thoughts quickly turned elsewhere. As this is my journal, I want to share some encouragement I got tonight.
First of all, it was weigh-in time at the gym. Althoguh I have not really seen any improvement, I have apparently lost 1.2 kilos (2.6 lbs) in one month. It does not sound like much, but I have also changed .8 kilos (1.8) of fat to muscle. Basically, I have lost one brick of Tilamrook Pepperjack Chesse (drool drool) of body fat. Of course, I still have "miles to go before I sleep," but it is encouraging.
While I was browsing the Yahoo News today (pathetic, but the only real English-language news I get here), I noted an article about a man who was walking across America to lose weight. When I tried the website, the site was down (due to heavy traffic, evidently), and made a mental note to try again this evening. I just spent about a half hour on his journal/blog, and I am quite encouraged.
Mr. Vaught speaks candidly and openly about the good, bad, and the ugly about weight loss and mental health (he has lost over 100 lbs on his journey so far). Of course, we should already know that there is a connection between weight gain and coping with life, but some people seem to have forgotten.
I was forced to admit that I stress eat sometimes. I am primarily overweight due to lack of exersise rather than food intake (I am in Asia after all!) but I am working on it. I will also admit that I suffer from chronic depression, and eating is sometimes the only thing that quells the inner hunger. Something about this man's story struck a chord in me, and, judging from the responses to his website, struck a chord with other people too. Are we a nation of seriously depressed individuals?
Think about it. In American society, at various times in history, alcohol has been banned, smoking has been banned, sex has been banned....now "fat" is being banned. What "vices" do we have left? No wonder we are depressed. It's a tough world out there, and, after fighting our way through our jobs, traffic, and relationships, is it any wonder that we feel the need to splurge on something?
Of course, in moderation, the above "vices," when taken/indulged in moderately, become relatively innocuous (except perhaps smoking). A drink or two on the weekend isn't going to kills anyone or GASP make them an alcoholic. Moreover, a little drink is useful in preventing heart disease. Sex releases useful endorphins and seratonin in the brain (regardless of prowess or technique) that help create a steady mental balance. Maybe lack of this type of activity is why many single people are so uptight and aggresive. A little body fat is also good; we should not get below 20% BFI or we start getting ill.
Although I have a long way to go, I feel a bit upbeat tonight. The mental and physical exhaustion from doing my "hamster in a wheel" routine did achieve some results, though progress is slow. Check out Steve Vaught's site at:
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
Steve Vaught
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
I was going to jump right into a three (?) part entry on the Korean education system tonight, but my thoughts quickly turned elsewhere. As this is my journal, I want to share some encouragement I got tonight.
First of all, it was weigh-in time at the gym. Althoguh I have not really seen any improvement, I have apparently lost 1.2 kilos (2.6 lbs) in one month. It does not sound like much, but I have also changed .8 kilos (1.8) of fat to muscle. Basically, I have lost one brick of Tilamrook Pepperjack Chesse (drool drool) of body fat. Of course, I still have "miles to go before I sleep," but it is encouraging.
While I was browsing the Yahoo News today (pathetic, but the only real English-language news I get here), I noted an article about a man who was walking across America to lose weight. When I tried the website, the site was down (due to heavy traffic, evidently), and made a mental note to try again this evening. I just spent about a half hour on his journal/blog, and I am quite encouraged.
Mr. Vaught speaks candidly and openly about the good, bad, and the ugly about weight loss and mental health (he has lost over 100 lbs on his journey so far). Of course, we should already know that there is a connection between weight gain and coping with life, but some people seem to have forgotten.
I was forced to admit that I stress eat sometimes. I am primarily overweight due to lack of exersise rather than food intake (I am in Asia after all!) but I am working on it. I will also admit that I suffer from chronic depression, and eating is sometimes the only thing that quells the inner hunger. Something about this man's story struck a chord in me, and, judging from the responses to his website, struck a chord with other people too. Are we a nation of seriously depressed individuals?
Think about it. In American society, at various times in history, alcohol has been banned, smoking has been banned, sex has been banned....now "fat" is being banned. What "vices" do we have left? No wonder we are depressed. It's a tough world out there, and, after fighting our way through our jobs, traffic, and relationships, is it any wonder that we feel the need to splurge on something?
Of course, in moderation, the above "vices," when taken/indulged in moderately, become relatively innocuous (except perhaps smoking). A drink or two on the weekend isn't going to kills anyone or GASP make them an alcoholic. Moreover, a little drink is useful in preventing heart disease. Sex releases useful endorphins and seratonin in the brain (regardless of prowess or technique) that help create a steady mental balance. Maybe lack of this type of activity is why many single people are so uptight and aggresive. A little body fat is also good; we should not get below 20% BFI or we start getting ill.
Although I have a long way to go, I feel a bit upbeat tonight. The mental and physical exhaustion from doing my "hamster in a wheel" routine did achieve some results, though progress is slow. Check out Steve Vaught's site at:
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com
Monday, March 20, 2006
NOTES: Emerald Lady's "Personal Ad"
The Kiss
Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me
Elton John
(Elton John/Bernie Taupin)
I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I can't find the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal
Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me
Elton John
(Elton John/Bernie Taupin)
I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I can't find the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)