The Iceberg

Nothing ever changes in the English-language Korea-related blogging world.

I woke up this morning, turned on my computer, and read the news that the Virginia Tech killer was a South Korean national. Unfortunately for me, my first thought was of the blogs. I thought, “Oh boy, this is going to get ugly.” Sure enough, the usual suspects showed up at The Marmot’s Hole comments section readied with - depending on which side of the fence they’ve placed themselves - either their accusations or their rationalizations. You see, it doesn’t matter what sort of Korea-related news comes down the pipe, it’s all just fuel for the engines of two sides that, though they can’t admit it to themselves, would rather hate than debate. On one side you have those who are eager to flaunt anything that comes their way to flog what they perceive as deficiencies in Korean culture and/or mindset. On the other you have those who receive the slightest criticism of Korea as a personal afront and/or an example of cultural imperialism and proceed to pull out the “yeah, buts”. Actually, both sides are pretty good at the “yeah, buts”. And both sides are perfectly aware that they are not going to change the other’s mind, but that is not the point nor the desire. It’s an angry place filled with angry people partaking in mental masturbation. And now here I am with my two strokes.

Bottom line: thirty-two people who didn’t deserve to die have lost their lives to a sick and deranged human being. That, and only that, is what matters. Any attempt to extrapolate from that to bolster tired arguments that were here yesterday and will be here tomorrow is pretty damn sad, because the victims from Virginia Tech will not be here tomorrow.

Sometimes it pays to be able to speak and understand Korean. In this case, it may have prevented me from being fired (and thrown into jail).

A little background:

I’m currently teaching at a foreign language high school in Anyang, but I also teach three hours a week at the girls’ high school adjacent to our school.

This morning in the girls’ class the theme was clothing and accessories, and I decided to combine it with a lesson on the simple present vs. the present continuous tense. I walked around the class asking the girls various forms of “Do you…?” and “Are you -ing…?” questions in order to point out the difference. For example: Do you wear glasses? Yes, I do. Are you wearing glasses? No, I’m not.

I approached one girl wearing the typical school uniform of jacket, blouse, and skirt and asked her,

“Do you wear pants?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied.

Alright, she seemed to get it. Next question,

“Are you wearing pants?”

“Yes, I am,” she said.

“Hmm,” I thought, “maybe she’s not catching on,” so feigning surprise I inquired again,

“You’re wearing pants?” - hoping she would pick up on the clue.

“Yes, I am,” she said again matter-of-factly. So I switched over to Korean and asked her again if she was wearing pants.

“Ohhhhhh. No, I’m not,” she answered, then, giggling, turned to her classmates and said (in Korean),

“I thought he asked me if I was wearing panties.”

Rare is the occassion when I blush, but I felt the blood rush to my cheeks upon hearing that. I asked her in Korean, “Do you think I would ask you that???” It turned into a good laugh for everyone, but I shudder to imagine the conversations that would have taken place throughout the day had I not clarified myself in Korean. Also, I was surprised by how calmly she provided an answer to the question she thought I was asking. Whew!

Let’s see. Now what’s been keeping me away from blogging?

Read More »

I have spent the past couple of weeks…

becoming more acquainted with the game of soccer… Read More »

I’m moving up to Anyang (안양) tomorrow and then heading to Japan this weekend. I’ll try to post sometime in between, but I can’t guarantee it.

Here’s a story for all of you fans of Texas Hold ‘Em.

I was talking to my mom on the phone last Saturday and she relayed this news about my brother to me. She doesn’t know much about poker, so - knowing my brother’s game - I am taking the liberty to fill in the details as I see them having played out.

My brother, who lives in Vegas, was playing Hold ‘Em at an off-the-strip casino (I assume it was the “Fiesta”). He was dealt pocket kings and got a third on the flop, with the other two cards potential suited runners (say, for example, the five and six of clubs). I imagine my brother bet strong, but not too strong. Whatever. Someone stayed in. On the turn - the fourth king. At this point, I’m sure my brother decided to slow play his hand. I’m also pretty confident that at this point he was probably blind to what else was on the table, but it doesn’t really matter. If you’ve got four kings, you have to play them regardless. After the river my brother likely bet strong and then was surprised to see his opponent raise. Again, knowing my brother, he was probably giddy about this since he was sitting on four kings and re-raised. The problem? The river card was another club and his opponent showed a straight flush. Imagining the look on my brother’s face when he saw his opponent’s hand makes me chuckle. The good news in all of this is that the casino has something called a “Bad Beat” jackpot. A bad beat is when you have the stronger hand before the river, but someone draws a final card that allows them to beat your hand. A bad beat jackpot is given to someone who has an unusually strong hand (i.e. four kings) and still loses. In this case, my brother received $45,000. Not bad for losing a hand, eh?

Ah, what the hell…since I’m telling poker stories, I may as well share this one with you too. Back in November 2005 I partook in a poker tournament in Seoul (purely for fun, mind you, no money involved…that would have been illegal). The night before the tournament I had a dream. In my dream I was dealt pocket 3s on the first hand and the other two 3s came out on the flop. I cleaned up. Now…I swear to god I’m not making this up. The next day at the tournament I was dealt pocket 3s ON THE VERY FIRST HAND. I started shaking. Too bizarre. On the flop, ONE MORE THREE! I normally like to slowly work myself into a game, but this was an exceptional situation. Needless to say, I cleaned up on the first hand and rode my strong stack to victory. True story.

Since I will soon be moving to Anyang, I thought it important that I maintain a point man in Yeosu. Thankfully, my friend Scott (how the hell many Scotts are there in this country?) is more than eager to take on the responsibility.

I put Scott (henceforth known as “Titanic”) through numerous blogging tasks to test whether he would sink or swim (hyuk hyuk hyuk). Here are some winners that the Titanic ran across:

From the Yeosu Odong Island sculpture festival…the Super Dong-Chim

Kids, please do try this at home. Maybe if you broke a few fingers trying to shove them up a bronze statue’s ass, you might think twice before performing this disgusting maneuver again.

Next, a couple of great Kim Jong-il spoofs from Mad TV’s Bobby Lee.

The first shows the Dear Leader rockin’ the house in a music video

Finally, we’ve got a video of the Kim Jong-il Show, where the Dear Leader interviews the Donald

Keep clap, keep clap.

In about two weeks I’ll be saying good-bye to Yeosu and hello to Anyang.

I’ve enjoyed the past year in Yeosu. About six months in, I used to say that Yeosu was a nice place to visit, but not to live. However, as the time to leave approaches, I have somewhat surprisingly discovered that the place grows on you and it is with mixed feelings that I move on. But, when push comes to shove, I am more of a big-city type. Plus, I suspect living in the outskirts of Seoul will provide more fodder for the blog.

On that note, I will spend my remaining few days here sharing my impressions of Yeosu.

Like most things in life, many of Yeosu’s charms and vexations are inextricably linked in the same elements. Whether or not one enjoys the place largely depends on his or her personal outlook, or perhaps even one’s mood on a particular day. When I reflect on the time I’ve spent here, this proves to be the recurring theme. I’ll begin with Yeosu’s location.

Yeosu is a small, isolated city of about 300,000 people. It is located on a talon-shaped strip of land that extends from Korea’s southern coast, sort of a peninsula on the peninsula. To access any other part of Korea, one must first venture north on a four-lane highway for 45 minutes to the city of Suncheon before setting off in any other direction, so any desired visit to larger cities like Gwang-ju, Busan, or Seoul is no easy trek. There is an airport located between Yeosu and Suncheon, so you can fork over about 75,000 won for a one-way flight to Seoul (plus about 10,000 won for a taxi to the airport) and get there in about 50 minutes. Bottom line, if you’re not willing to expend money or time, you’re going to spend the majority of your time in Yeosu.

On the other hand, Yeosu’s isolation lends it a sort of “other-worldly” atmosphere that I haven’t experienced in any other city on the peninsula. Though it is a city, and therefore offers the bare amenities that any other city possesses (hospitals, restaurants, drinking establishments, E-mart, etc.), the pace of life here is incredibly slow. You can travel to pretty much anywhere in town in less than fifteen minutes and the taxi fare will never exceed 4000 won. In Seoul, if you traveled the same distance, the meter would often run to nearly 10,000 won. The same goes for crowds. Venture out to Yeosu’s nightlife areas on a Friday or Saturday night and you’ll find the number of people on the street is sparse. Yet, if you enter a bar or club, there they are. If complete isolation is your thing, simply hop on a boat and make your way to one of many islands off the coast, where the population rarely exceeds the hundreds.

In summary, Yeosu is a nice place to escape the hustle and bustle. One can’t help but purge the big-city tension that stealthily makes its way into your neck and shoulders. However, if you’re not careful, you’ll find that the stress can easily be replaced by cabin fever.

Dear Friend,

I wish, on the afternoon of November 24th, that you could have stepped briefly into the future. Had that been possible, you would have heard the shaken voice of your good friend John, as unflappable a character as there ever was, as he told me over the phone the next day that you were dead. Man, you left him with an excruciatingly heavy load to carry, calling him from the top of that building and telling him to pass your love on to your parents. As much as I grieve for your loss, I can’t help feeling some anger for what you laid on him.

I wish you could have seen your parents’ barren faces three days after your death as I had. They frantically traveled all the way from the States to pick you up. They told me that, on the plane ride over here, they didn’t really believe that you were gone until they saw your body at the hospital. When I met your parents in the lobby of the hotel where they were staying, I saw your mother’s eyes and part of me felt as though I was looking at your face for the last time. I wish you could have looked three days into the future so that you had seen how your death has completely devastated your parents. You know, they say that the saddest thing in life is when a parent outlives his or her child, but when that child takes his own life the grief is accompanied by the weight of guilt, self-doubt, and utter despair. We, your friends, talked for hours with your parents as they searched for answers. Between questions, your mother and father told stories of your life before you came to Korea. I wish you could have looked three days into the future at your mother’s face as she fought back tears while reminiscing over her infant son’s silky blonde hair. You would have heard the pain in her voice when she asked us the most difficult question of all: “Could we sense that he knew his parents loved him?” I wish you could have seen twenty, thirty, forty years into the future so that you would have known that your parents’ lives will never, ever be the same.

You’ve left those of us who cared about you with a lot of questions, man. Your friends that you chose to leave have talked about this a lot, but we are never going to know for sure why you did it. Obviously you were going through a lot of anguish, but why couldn’t you share it with us? I saw you just two weeks before you left us. Hearing that you hadn’t been yourself lately, I looked directly into your eyes and asked as solemnly as I could without embarrassing you how you were doing and you told me that things were good. You had a new job and were looking forward to getting out of Seoul. You said that you had quit smoking and were training for a marathon. Why did you hide the torment that drove you to such drastic measures? Was it fear of embarrassment? Were you ashamed to appear weak? No one will ever know. All we’ll ever know is that you made a decision that is irreversible. I wish you could have glanced into the future to see all of the people who have been affected by your death; all of the people who cared about you. Maybe then you would have thought twice before saying good-bye.

Yesterday I received horrible news for the second time this week. I learned that a friend in Seoul took his life on Friday. The events of this past week have sent my mind into (I hope) temporary shutdown mode and I’m in no mood to comment on anything else other than to say I have no idea when I’ll post again. It could be weeks or it could be tomorrow.