Caveat: Land’s End

picturepictureYesterday my friend Mr Kim and I went hiking at Duryunsan (두룐산), which is in Haenam County about an hour and a half’s drive south of Gwangju.Originally, we’d discussed taking an overnight to Song-i-do, but Mr Kim couldn’t do an overnight, so we did this instead. picture

After our hike, we drove another 30 minutes to a place called Ttangkkeutmaeul (땅끝마을), which translates pretty literally as Land’s End Village. That’s because the spot is the southernmost extremity of the Korean mainland. There are thousands of islands scattered in the area farther south, including two large islands, Wando and Jindo, that are connected by bridge – so nowadays Ttangkkeut is no longer the farthest south one can go by car, but historically, Ttangkkeut is the “tip” of the Korean Peninsula.

It was a good day. There were a lot of steep and rocky spots. In Korea, all “up-the-mountain” hiking trails are substantially engineered, but this one included a number of spots where one had to use attached hand-holds, hanging ropes and chains to cling to the sides of pretty steep (not to say sheer) rock faces. I always have a little bit of acrophobia in such situations of exposed heights, but I’m pretty good at just “dealing with it” and pushing along.

So here are some pictures.

I saw some jang-seung (장승 – left and right, above). I love jang-seung – I want to become a jang-seung sculptor in my next career, I think

There was a cheesy stone lion (courtesy Lion’s International) at the park entrance.

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Just starting out, we met a group of senior citizens who were starting their day with hefty doses of purple makkeolli (rice beer flavored with some kind of root or flower, I forgot to write down the name).

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They insisted I drink with them, and eat seafood jeom pancakes and kimchi. One has to comply with such requests – it’s social obligation. So… two big bowls later (makkeolli is traditionally drunk from bowls, not cups), I began the hike in a bit of a drunken haze.

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At the base of the mountain, there was 대흥사 [dae-heung-sa = Daeheung Temple].

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I saw a scary demon (or was it a portrait of a new member of anger-rap group Insane Clown Posse? Hard to tell…).

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I saw some bodhisattvas (I think they were bodhisattvas) riding on animals.

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I saw Siddhartha thinking about his deceased parents.

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About halfway up the mountain, we found a construction area near a small hermitage (암), affiliated with the temple.

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There was a mysterious backhoe. A construction worker told us he drove it there. But we’d traversed some very rocky and un-drivable paths to get to that point, and so we were sceptical. A monk later told us the construction worker had lied – the backhoe had been delivered with a cargo helicopter.

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There was a cute, but rather grumpy, old temple dog.

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At this hermitage, we found a 미륵 [mi-reuk = Maitreya, which is “future buddha,” but also is used to refer to a statue of buddha]. It was a big, ancient one, enclosed in a little temple/shelter structure to protect it from further erosion from the elements. It was really awesome to see. It was my favorite part of the hike.

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The view from a helipad.

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Hints of fall in the foliage.

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A difficult, steep stretch, where I had to hang on a rope and pull myself up through a hole in the rocks.

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Some panoramic views. Pardon the specks of dirt visible on the camera lens. Looking east.

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Looking southeast – toward Wando, I think.

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A summit marker.

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Mountain-top-deep-thinker.

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In this picture, I tried to capture a little bird that Mr Kim told me was rare. You can barely see it, in the lower left quadrant. But I liked the sort of abstract look of the face of rock that the picture captured, so I decided to put it up.

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Here is Mr Kim, in among some trees.

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This is a charming green moth that was lurking on a lavender-colored flower.

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The mountain is supposedly a reclining buddha. So there are multiple peaks: head, belly, feet. I think this is buddha’s head, but looking toward the chin from the valley of his neck/chest area.

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Here is a natural stone arch that we went under, after going up some very steep, steel stairs hung on a cliffside.

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Clowning around on said steel stairs.

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Here is Mr Kim, having one of his long conversations with random strangers, that he likes to enjoy. I think he likes to “brag” about his foreign friend, a little bit – I’m kind of a walking, smiling status symbol, for him. I don’t mind – he’s very intelligent, and, to the extent we succeed in communicating, interesting to talk to. We both learn a lot of each other’s respective languages, although we are often just as exhausted from the effort, mentally, at the end of the day, as physically.

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A panoramic view from the peak, looking eastish.

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The obligatory top-of-the-mountain victory pose.

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Here are some people we met. I mix up the various groups of hikers we meet. This group, or another one, were a church group who served us kimchi, apples, makkeolli (rice beer) and coffee flavored hard-candies: lunch snack of champion mountain climbers everywhere!

Sharing food in the middle of nowhere is a deeply embedded part of Korean culture, I’ve come to believe. My friend Mr Kim will literally walk up to just-met strangers and begin a conversation with something like, hey, do you have any kimbap? Or they will greet us with, hey, get over here and drink some makkeolli – and here’s some kimchi to go with it.

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A little monk’s hermitage (암) we encountered on the way down.

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The painted wooden panels on the temple building at the hermitage were amazing. I love these things, and they’re easy to find, all over Korea.

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Two pictures of boats at Ttangkkeut.

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Here is a man parking his boat at a dock where my friend Mr Kim bought an octopus for his wife. That seems like a really romantic Korean thing to do:  buy a fresh, wiggly octopus for one’s loved one. The fisherman’s Korean was incomprehensible to me. And he had a young, Philippine wife standing on the dock, assisting, and her Korean was even worse than mine, and I wondered… how do they communicate? Is communication really even a part of their relationship? It’s very common for rural Korean men, these days, to find “foreign brides” – because all the Korean women go to university and go live in the cities, wanting nothing to do with farmers and fishermen. A very interesting cultural phenomenon.

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Here is a tiny scrap of rock with some very Korean-looking trees clambering around on it, just off the coast of Ttangkkeut at the ferry terminal (well, really just a chunk of concrete where the boats can disgorge their vehicles).

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A bright half-moon over a tree and rock at Ttangkkeut, at dusk.

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A big rock that says “땅끝 .  한반도최남단” [ttang-kkeut.  han-ban-do-choe-nam-dan = Land’s End.  Korean Peninsula’s Southernmost Column (i.e. column of rock on the beach there, I think)]

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This morning, I awoke at 6:40, which felt decadent, given I normally get up an hour earlier.  My legs are a bit sore.  There were dumptrucks rumbling, roosters crowing, and goats bleating, outside my window.  For breakfast, I had some coffee and some leftover cake that a student’s mom gifted me with, last week.

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Caveat: Detention

Yesterday was a hard day.  My co-teacher Ji-eun and I have had a lot of problems with the sixth grade regular classes, behaviorally.  We decided to try out an English "detention" concept for misbehaving kids. 

First detention class was yesterday.  Mixed results.  To be expected.  How to proceed?  Cogitating…

Caveat: 7) 나의 진실한 마음을 저버리고 살아 온 죄를 참회하며 절합니다

“I bow in repentance of any misdeeds lived, forsaking my true heart.”

This is #7 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).


5. 나는 누구인가, 참 나는 어디있는가를 망각한 채 살아 온 죄를 참회하며 절합니다.
     “I bow in repentance of any misdeeds lived, forgetting wherever I may be, whoever I may be.” 
6. 나의 몸을 소중하게 여기지 않고 살아 온 죄를 참회하며 절합니다.
     “I bow in repentance of any misdeeds lived, not regarding my body as something dear.”
7. 나의 진실한 마음을 저버리고 살아 온 죄를 참회하며 절합니다.

I would read this seventh affirmation as: “I bow in repentance of any misdeeds lived, forsaking my true heart.”

Is this really telling me to forsake my true heart? Or did I get something wrong?

I feel very tired today. Exhausted from pushing hard over the weekend, maybe. Not feeling motivated, but I had dinner with my friend Mr Kim at a gulbi joint in Beopseong – this was actually the very first time I’ve eaten in a gulbi joint in Beopsong, despite the fact that I’ve gone through there every single working day since starting here, and some non-working days as well. The gulbi itself was pretty good. I wasn’t so into the banchan, this evening. Hard to judge if it was the quality on offer, or if I was just in an anti-banchan mood.

[UPDATE: So it occurs to me, on rereading this much later, that I have misunderstood this aphorism – this one, and all those that have the same structure “…misdeeds lived, forsaking…”. The “forsaking my X” is in fact an example of the “misdeeds lived” – which is to say, you’re repenting for failing to experience the feeling in question.]

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Caveat: Minimalist Zoom

It was a strange sort of whirlwind weekend, I guess. Zooming up to Ilsan and back in just under 36 hours … was fun, but I feel tired. Plowing through a 400 page novel added to the slight sense of vertigo.

I had fun at the event, though mostly I was people watching, rather than interacting. I received gifts – I think Koreans like to give gifts at their parties to the guests – often cheesy, but still well-intentioned. This is a trait, if I recall correctly, that Koreans share with hobbits. Hmm… I mean that in a nice way.

I shall never have to buy a hand towel, in this country, as long as I can be invited to a social event every few months. And this time my hand towel was arranged to look like a cake (left, below). Here’s a picture of my haul of gifts.

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I also got some tteok (rice cake – right). It comes in many different forms, but I love it when it’s just these featureless bricks of slightly sweet, slightly grainy, sticky rice meal. Maybe like a cross between polenta and elmer’s glue.  It’s perhaps one of the most abstract foods imaginable. The sort of thing that one day will come out “food dispensers” on a spaceship. And it’s delicious.

And I won a pretty nice bowl (with lid – center), too, in a sort of contest. I won it because I was the person who had “traveled farthest” to come to the event – two times over, counting, on the one hand, my status as sole foreigner, and therefore technically from outside of Korea, and on the other hand, my having come just that morning from Jeollanam, which was pretty far even within Korea.

Speaking of towels, when I was in my hotel room this morning, getting ready to leave, I absently tossed my towel down on the coffee table, and look what it did:

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It stood up like that, for no apparent reason but its own inherent stiffness. Almost eerie – I’ve never seen a towel do that.

I finished reading the novel, Life of Pi. I don’t know if I like how it ends – I didn’t find it necessarily uplifting. Just vaguely ambiguous. But it’s still a pretty good book. And it’s the first time I’ve read a novel straight through, that way, in years.

I stopped by the Kyobo Mungo in Gangnam, which has, in my opinion, the best selection of English language books I’ve seen anywhere in Korea. I browsed for a while. I bought a book on syntactic theory. I’m not sure what made me do this. I had been reflecting the other day, on my very strange tendency to derive some kind of weird, abstract yet at the same time visceral pleasure in my contemplation of the most abstruse aspects of Korean grammar, and thinking, well, that’s always the part I liked best about studying linguistics, too. So, what the heck? Maybe I should get a book on general syntax and see if it’s interesting to me, after so many years.

If nothing else, it will provide me with an opportunity to become annoyed with Chomsky again, who still seems to dominate syntactic theory, even now – he’s moved on from GB (“Government and Binding” Theory [take that, Foucault!] which I spent a small amount of time with in a graduate-level syntax class back in the late 1980’s, when it was the latest concoction to emerge from Chomsky’s brain) to something called “minimalism.” Hah.

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Caveat: Hantucky; Hanhattan

If Yeonggwang County is Hantucky, then Ilsan may be Hanhattan. I’m playing with neologisms, of course: “Han” just means “Korea.”

Hanhattan has miles of wide, square streets, high rises, high density… with broad, well-designed parks. Anyway. I had a weird epiphany, walking along, just now, coming back to my hotel: since first coming to Ilsan, I’ve had trouble remembering the name of Ilsan’s “main drag.” I think of it, in my mind, as “Broadway.” But I’ve always had trouble retaining its “real” name. Then today, I looked up at a sign, and saw it spelled out, and suddenly it made perfect sense to me: 중앙로 [jung ang no] – it simply means Central Avenue. How freaking obvious! It only took me 37 months to figure it out. I always thought it was some obscure directional place name, like so many Korean roads and streets.

Here’s a picture of Central Avenue, along a stretch between Jeongbalsan and Madu stations. It looks like this for most of its 8 kilometer length. High rises and big stores and shops and apartment buildings the whole way.

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Here’s a picture I took earlier, when Ilsan at Jeongbalsan plaza was feeling exceptionally newyorky. The horse-drawn carriage for tourists was the clincher. These have been appearing here and there in Korea, recently. I’m not sure what to think of it – it’s clearly imported from the West.  But it’s kind of cool, too.

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Here’s a picture from my friend Curt’s son’s 돌 [dol] – special first birthday party. Curt and his wife, daughter, son…

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I also got to see former coworker Grace, as well as some of Curt’s more extended family, including his mom (who I met early last year when I went with Curt to his hometown at Jangsu). And I got to see Pete (not Peter S. nor Peter J., but yet a different Pete), who was a former boss that I tangled with, back when I worked at the LinguaForum hagwon in the spring of 2008. He seemed shocked to see I still was in Korea, and dumbfounded to hear I was working in a public school. Well… Oh well.

Here is a cute little girl who was deeply enamored of her party balloons.

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Caveat: Express Trip to Ilsan

Wow. My secret plan to come to Ilsan in record time worked perfectly – I made it in under 5 hours. The one time, before, when I tried to do a trip direct from Yeonggwang to Ilsan, it took more like 6 and half, because going into Seoul and then changing to the subway seems to end up taking up a lot of time.

So this time, I bought a ticket on the 9:30 AM airport express bus, direct from Yeonggwang bus terminal to Incheon Airport. This bypasses the worst of Seoul traffic and congestion. Then I took a “local” airport bus from the airport to Ilsan. Ilsan is, in fact, much closer to Incheon airport than either of them are to downtown Seoul.

I took along a novel to read, The Life of Pi. I’ve been procrastinating on reading this novel for something close to a decade, I think. Maybe not that long. Anyway, it was always out there on the “to read” list. In my bus ride, I managed to plow through the first half of the book.

As Pi confronts the hyena on the lifeboat, I look out the bus window to watch the golden rice fields tranform into the endless tracts of highrise apartments, south of Incheon.  Next thing, I’m looking out the bus window from the top of the bridge over to the island where the airport is. The sky and water is blue, the Incheon skyline is littered with cranes. There are boats sitting on the mudflats, while the world’s commerce passes by in shipping channels. And then I see the giant stainless steel penis-looking-statue-thing that sits at the gateway to Incheon international airport – anyone who’s come in and out of Incheon a few times knows what I’m talking about. I imagine it’s actually supposed to represent some kind of abstraction of “flight,” but frankly, it’s pretty darn blatant, in my opinion. It’s Korea’s “hello” to the world, I guess.

I jump off the bus at the airport, run down the escalator, and in 5 minutes flat I’m sitting on a #3300 bus bound for Ilsan. Another few chapters race by, and I barely ring the buzzer in time for the driver to stop at Baekseok.  I’ve decided to stick with the familiar, and therefore I’ve opted to stay at a hotel I already know about: it’s basically outside the Baekseok subway entrance. It’s not the cheapest – but the cheapest in Ilsan are seedy love motels. This is maybe a few grades above that – no lodging is cheap in this part of metro Seoul. It’s cool – it’ll be a luxury weekend. I know this hotel, and know it’s reliable, right? Internet and giant TV in the room, and a lovely view of the Baekseok Costco. Haha.

I have come to Ilsan to attend the first birthday party of my friend’s son.  This is a big deal in Korea – it’s celebrated with a rental of a reception hall, and has the feel of a wedding. I attended one, once before. I still need to find something to give as a gift – I’m not sure I have it in me to get something conventional (i.e. the expected baby clothes or shoes). Maybe something slightly unconventional, instead? Not sure how much to stretch the social boundaries.

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Caveat: El Desafío

Hace 16 años estuve en Patagonia. Recientemente (re)encontré en el web un lugar que recuerdo muy vivamente: El Desafío es una especie de “folk art” que se ubica en el pueblo de Gaiman en el valle del río de Chubut. Un parque construido completamente de materiales reciclados: ladrillos, botellas de vidrio y plástico, autos rotos, toneladas de basura. De hecho, resulta en una clase de “theme park.” Algún día, gustaría regresar al valle de Chubut, con sus raices en las culturas galesa e italiana, su belleza desolada; es uno de mis lugares favoritos en Sudamérica.

“Un desafío a la solemnidad, a la falta de amor, a la inercia, a la incapacidad. Un canto a la vida, al optimismo, al humor, a la creatividad.”

Parque-el-desafio

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Caveat: 당신은 특☆해요!

It was one of those miraculous, happy days, when putting up with all the sociopathic administrator bullshit becomes totally worth it.  What I mean to say, is the kids came through.  They delivered happiness and joy.
One student wrote to me:   당신은 특☆해요!  (and explaining that ☆ is read as 별 = “star”), hence “당신은 특별해요” [dang-sin-eun teuk-byeol-hae-yo = you are special].  Aww, shucks.  I thought that’s what teachers were supposed to write to their students, not vice versa.
Then, I was in the courtyard, with about five minutes before having to go upstairs to the third grade.  A group of third graders saw me, and said, oh, teacher, you must come to class.  They grabbed me by my hands and hauled me up the stairs as if I was an unruly child, and then when I got there, things were still clearly in a state of recess, so I said, why am I here?
“Fun!” was the chorus.
In another third grade class, I was going through my beginning-of-class routine – I ask students (not always every single one, but at least half, one by one) “how are you?”  I try to get them to vary their answers, and not always use the pat “I am fine” that they all seem to learn early on.  And whatever their answer, I occasionally ask “why?” and try to get them to give some information as to why they feel the way that they do.
So… I asked one student, “how are you?”
“Oh!  Very happy,” calm, but grinning.
“Why?”
“Because you.”  And she pointed at me.  I almost blushed in self-consciousness.
That was pleasing.
Finally, I was in my evening “gifted students’ class” which is at the county education office here in Yeonggwang.  I have about 22 smart – and smart-alecky – but not always focused sixth graders.  Things had been feeling a little bit slow.  But then I introduced them to my Jeopardy quiz show concept.  And they ran with it.
We had to modify the rules a little bit, because it was such a large group (22 contestants is a lot, to have to consult each student’s answer individually).  But it worked very well:  I had them scrawling down answers on scraps of paper and throwing them at me, I would read their answers and say “good” or “bad.”  I would award money (yes, my ubiquitous play money) appropriately.  And the kids started to have a huge amount of fun.  They would write truly funny things when they didn’t know the answer.  I would read them in my best game-show-host demeanor, and then begin laughing uncontrollably and toss the scrap of paper with the answer back into the crowd.  It had the same atmospheric as one of those always playing Korean comedy game shows.  It felt very successful.  Everyone was laughing.  No one noticed it was time to leave.
I walked home and passed the pizza place where some of the expats meet on Fridays… I didn’t really even realize I was walking along that particular street.  The owner saw me and leaned out the door, “안녕하세요.”  I answered in kind, “예, 안녕하세요.”

Caveat: The Yeonggwang Culture & Language Gang

The name sounds very ambitious. I suppose anytime one tries to form a club or social grouping, that’s rather ambitious. I’ve been working on this for a month or two. I guess I’m hoping we can have an institution of “foreigners” in the Yeonggwang area who meet to study a little bit, find out more about the culture or language without the overwhelming aspect of trying to do so with actual Koreans.

We’ve been meeting every Tuesday. One day, we made kimbap.  Another time, we watched a movie. Each class, we try to talk a little bit about the language – but everyone’s at a different level, so it doesn’t always go smoothly, in that respect.

Today, only two people (along with myself) showed up. We sat in the Paris Baguette (a Korean chain bakery store, about the closest Yeonggwang gets to cafe culture) by the bus terminal and drank some coffee and talked about verbs for a while.

I hope the group can be successful, but it’s hard building any kind of expat community on any kind of basis, here, because there are so few, and interests are so diverse. A guy named Jim has done a fabulous job with his Friday night pizza & beer gatherings, and I often go to those, too. But I was trying for something that would provide some group encouragement and motivation for the language study – I figured even though I was more advanced, I would nevertheless benefit from a motivational standpoint. And I have.

Having so few people able and interested in participating is a little bit disappointing. But … 아자 아자… I hope this can work.

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Caveat: Metamoderation

"Moderation in all things. Including moderation." – Mark Twain

I think I've found a new favorite quote.  Now, to work with implementation – I'm actually really not that good at moderation – I've always had a degree of "all or nothing" about my personality.  Hence this Twainian metamoderation seems likely to be exceptionally challenging.

But I've been thinking a lot about habits, lately, and about bad habits and good habits.   Small things – eating well, exercising, getting work done rather than procrastinating, mostly abstaining from alcohol but not being a teetotaler, etc.  I watch myself, over time:  I build up a habit, good or bad, and then tear it down again.

I found written in my private journal, a few days ago, the following disconcerting observation (or was I attempting poetry?):  "I slip into and out of my private dysfunctions with a great deal of grace."

Caveat: Hiking up, hiking down, and then it rained

I went on a great hike with my friend Mr Kim, today, at 내장산 [naejangsan]. Up the mountain, and down again, pretty fast (about 4 hours). Rain threatened, and then, as we were arriving at the bottom, raindrops. We sat under a canvas awning in a vacant restaurant in the little tourist ville at the entrance to the park area, and ate 전 [jeon = Korean egg and vegetable pancake] and 김치찌깨 [kimchijjikkae = kimchi stew]. And it rained. It was beautiful, and very relaxing.

Here is a picture from the inevitable temple-at-the-bottom-of-the-mountain we stopped at. And a picture of me at the restaurant. I’ll post more pictures tomorrow.

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Caveat: Fascinatinger

"I try to make things fascinatinger." – Ira Glass (host of NPR's "This American Life" show).

My thought:  the key to life is to stay interested.  That's where living in a foreign country and teaching children come in – they keep me pretty interested, even if things aren't always easy or perfect or convenient.

I have begun to really enjoy my first graders, even though I have yet to have a "good" class with them – they're so unruly, so chaotic, so difficult to calm down and control even for a few minutes.  Their picture will be included in a definition of the expression: "…like herding cats." 

So why am I enjoying them?  Hmm… I think it comes down to the same reason I enjoy trying to learn Korean – the sheer perverse difficulty of the undertaking, in and of itself, is what I enjoy.

I see the little ones, my first graders, filtering into the classroom, and I watch myself carefully.  What am I doing that "works"?  What am I doing that "doesn't work"?  How does the dynamic among the children inevitably result in milling, leaping, sitting-on-the-kid-next-door, shrieking, impossible-to-control chaos?

Caveat: Coleslaw after conformity

I keep craving coleslaw.  It's not like I'm not getting enough cabbage – my two daily doses of kimchi, and all that.  Fortunately, ingredients for passable coleslaw are easy to come by – unlike some things I crave, like Mexican food, which have ingredients that are downright impossible to come by.

So I made some coleslaw.  You know, chopped cabbage, carrots…  I like to add some chopped apple, for the tart sweetness, and maybe some raisins.  I have some "coleslaw dressing" which is basically something mayonnaise-like that Koreans apparently use.  But I also have some horseradish sauce, which gives a nice flavor.  And a shake of vinegar.  My only peculiar innovation:  I add some "drinking yogurt" (which is always sweetened and flavored in its Korean variety – but that sweetness can be a nice offset in the coleslaw, I guess).  It's pretty good.

Yesterday was a strange day at work.  I had no classes – the third grade was doing some special book-report-festival (is it possible to have a book report festival?).  But I ended up extremely busy, since Ms Ryu asked me to do practice JET speaking tests.  Fortunately, I was prepared and experienced in doing such a thing, so it went quite smoothly, and I spent the day asking high-end students questions and scoring the competence of their answers.

Then, in the afternoon, we were working hard to meet more of the vice principal's arbitrary demands for making our new classroom adequate to his expectations – putting military-style (meaning very very very dull and uniform) labels on everything, and making sure nothing in the room looks too personalized or fun – god forbid our new, high-tech classroom looking like a warm, welcoming place. 

So I tried to put myself into an army mindset and just line everything up… pretending, in my mind, that some high-level colonel was going to come a-inspectin'.  Probably, this isn't far from the truth – the power plant bigwigs that are paying for all this remodelling are bound to come around at some point, soon, to see how the school's spending their money.  And they're nuclear power plant officials – they're going to like seeing lots of sterile uniformity – it will match their expectations for order and good design.  So, actually, I have some small sympathy for the vice principal's position.  But that doesn't mean he needs to be so… inhumane.

Caveat: 3) 지극한 마음으로 승가에 귀의합니다

“I turn to the Sangha [Buddhist community-of-faithful] with all my heart.”

This begins to become a regular exercise (is it a linguistic pursuit, a cultural pursuit, or a religious one?).

1. 지극한 마음으로 부처님께 귀의합니다.
     “I turn to the Buddha with all my heart.”
2. 지극한 마음으로 부처님 법에 귀의합니다.
     “I turn to the Buddha Dharma [Law of Buddha] with all my heart.”
3. 지극한 마음으로 승가에 귀의합니다.

I would read the third affirmation as “I turn to the Sangha [Buddhist community-of-faithful] with all my heart.”

The Korean “승가” [seung-ga] is given as “priesthood” by naver’s dictionary, but I don’t think this is accurate. Sangha (this is the Pali word, I think, but like dharma, it’s widely used in untranslated form in English Language Buddhist literature) is a little bit broader than that. It’s kind of the Buddhist equivalent of the word “church” in Christian tradition, almost – it can mean those affiliated with a church directly, like priests or pastors or whatever, but it can also mean everybody in the community.

In the past week, since Chuseok day, fall has arrived and spun a cocoon of chill breezes and gold-green rice fields and loosening leaves across the Korean landscape. Winter will emerge from this chrysalis, in a month or two. I’m pleased. I much prefer Autumn to Summer.

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Caveat: 須藤元気 (Genki Sudo)

pictureOne of my fellow foreigners-in-Hantucky (who I don’t know well at all but whom I follow in facebookland) posted a video, there, by Japanese polymath Genki Sudo. I was impressed, and couldn’t resist putting him here. The guy is the real-life-person who most reminds me of the Buckaroo Banzai character (well, except for the brain surgery and battling-aliens-to-save-Earth parts). He’s a martial artist / wrestler / Buddhist activist and author / musician / dancer / calligrapher / graduate-student-in-public-administration and who knows what else – regardless, like any competent 21st century denizen, he’s an effective self-promoter. I have to agree with Carl-teacher – the best part in the video is when the kids are joining in. Watch it (the embed didn’t work that well, you can link out to youtubeland) –  it’s worth it.

What I’m listening to right now.


須藤元気 [Genki Sudo], “World Order.”

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Caveat: … between Iraq and a hard place

"We describe ourselves as being between Iraq and a hard place."  This is a brilliant pun, even as it is, but doubly so when you consider it was uttered by King Abdullah II of Jordan, in a recent interview with Jon Stewart.   Jordan! … between Iraq and a hard place.  Heheh.

Jon Stewart was in high form, this past week – I tend to go through a weeks' worth of episodes on a lazy weekend morning.  The interview with Jimmy Carter was interesting, but mostly serves to confirm just how important Stewart has become in the broad scheme of the 21st century American polity, such as it is. 

The bit that preceeded it – in which Asif Mandvi protests "Better Wages for People Protesting for Better Wages," when he discovers that some pro-union people protesting in front of Wal-Mart are in fact non-union minimum-wage-paid temp workers – was utterly fantastic and biting satire.  And Larry Wilmore, as usual, is understated comic genius.

Hmm.  After my fabulous trip to Suwon / Seoul / Ilsan over the holiday, my return to Yeonggwang was anti-climactic and depressing.  I had a gloomy day, yesterday.  I had some things I needed to get done – dull and easy-to-procrastinate things, like website maintenance and some overdue paperwork for my accountant.  I did none of it.  I felt annoyed with myself.  I watched videos on my computer (a really funny Korean movie called 무림여대생 = My Mighty Princess, Jon Stewart and Colbert, etc.).  I took a long walk.  I read a chunk of several of the books I'd purchased in Seoul.  I ignored the world.

I guess for each good day, there can be a not-so-good day.  It's OK.

Caveat: Visiting n Thinking n Walking

I saw my friend Curt, yesterday. We went to a restaurant in the building next his hagwon (that he owns) that we sometimes go to. We ate bibimbap with tasty veggies, and his daughter (around age 8 or 9?) was as shy as usual.

Later, he wanted to talk about what it takes to build a compelling a curriculum at the elementary level. I have some ideas, and I know he wants to hear them, but in some ways they run counter to what most Koreans believe a hagwon should be.

My dream would be to build an “Arts” hagwon that just coincidentally happens to be in English. The idea is to teach English “by accident” while the kids are having fun doing art projects, drama projects, music projects. I would want to strongly encourage team and peer teaching, too, and my work with my “town building class” over the summer confirms that finding an “intrinsic motivator” (like having a complex classroom economy with lots of fake money in circulation) is a great way to keep kids engaged and help them forget they’re bored.

Curt wants me to write something up about all this. I’m going to try – the above paragraph constitutes a “back-of-napkin” draft of a statement of purpose, maybe.

I walked around Ilsan a little bit, then I took the subway back to the bus terminal and got on a sunset bus bound straight for Glory [Yeonggwang]. I took some pictures.

Some trees live in Ilsan.

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Looking north from a pedestrian bridge on the Juyeop esplanade.

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Turning to the right on the same pedestrian bridge, look – a Domino’s.

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Some girls at play at a fountain on Juyeop esplanade.

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Here is the street I like to call “Academy Road” [real name is Ilsan-no = Ilsan Avenue].  Looking west (can you see North Korea?  It’s just behind that hill in the far distance). All the buildings’ inifitude of signs are advertising hagwons.

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Looking east, more hagwons, including my 3 former places of work (all clustered in two blocks along the right side).

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Here is the Honam Line bus terminal, looking down on some ticket windows.  Seoul’s main express bus terminal is confusing, because it’s actually more than one terminal, separated by several blocks of mall-like real estate.  Honam Line serves the southwest part of the country.

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As I was looking out the bus window, the sun set near Osan.

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People kept smiling at me, today. Randomly. This isn’t typical, in Korea, where strangers ignore (at best) or are gruff (at worst) with other strangers. Are Koreans in a good mood, because of the holiday? Or am I putting off some weird “good mood” vibe that people are picking up?

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Caveat: At Costco, the Kids Speak English

I returned to Sim City, today.  Sim City?  Every time I come back to Ilsan, now that I’ve lived other places and spent lots of time in other parts of South Korea, I realize just how untypical it is. It’s all organized. It’s extremely upper-middle-class. It’s got right angles and wide streets and trees planted in rows along them, and regularly placed schools, police stations, parks. Ilsan was designed by a guy playing Sim City.

This place was my home, for two years. I liked it here – partly, the kids were great students, because they all come from highly motivated, upwardly mobile families. Partly, it’s high density, easy to get around, convenient for a foreigner, without being so far from Seoul that it’s hard to get there. And to those who imagine coming to Korea to teach, I can recommend it as a “soft landing” – it’s kind of a cultural halfway between American suburban lifestyles and Korean urban lifestyles.

Here’s Ilsan-from-space, from Google Earth. The evenly-spaced white rectangles are all schools, with their matching, uniform schoolyards (I think this satellite photo was done when there was snow on the ground, hence the whiteness).

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See all the perfect squares? My place of work was near the top center of this image. My apartment was just off the bottom center. My commute consisted of a two kilometer walk with only right-angle turns, of wide pedestrian esplanades with lots of trees and modernist public sculpture, and playing children on every side. Quite different from the Yeonggwang fish market behind the bus terminal, the busride through rice fields, Hongnong’s high street. Both have their charms, to be sure.

I decided to go to the Costco, at 백석 [baek-seok]. There are many Korean Costcos closer to my home (in fact, I’d bet that the Ilsan Costco is actually the one that is absolutely farthest from my home, given it’s about 15 km short of North Korean border), but I go to the one in Ilsan for two reasons: 1) I know exactly where it is, and it’s only 1 block from the subway station; 2) I like coming to Ilsan anyway, for nostalgia reasons, since I lived here in 2007-2009.

I never (literally NEVER) shopped at Costco in the US. I found it inconvenient, to have to be a member, and bargain-hunting, per se, is not my style of shopping. But I like Costco in Korea, because it’s one international retailer that makes very few concessions to local market differences. The consequence is that walking into a Costco in Ilsan is like teleporting to suburban Los Angeles – the ethnicity of the clientele is even roughly similar, although skewed differently. So it’s a chance to make a quick shopping trip back to the US, without the expensive airfare.

I shop at Costco for pants. Why? Because I have had bad experiences getting Korean-sized pants, even doing conversions. Costco puts the traditional (and irrational) American sizes right on them: I know if I pick up 34W30L jeans, they will fit, more or less.

In my 15 minutes in Costco, I heard the following things, all uttered by different children under 12 years old:

“eom-ma [mom], can we get this?”

“oh, cool!” – brother;  “it’s stupid.” – sister.

“oh my god! they have THESE.”

So… the children in Ilsan’s Costco speak English. That makes sense. This is a place for Korea’s aspirational classes. But it’s a little bit disorienting to hear, after months out in the provincia.

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Caveat: Röyksopp – You Don’t Have a Clue (& other insomnias)

Can't sleep.

Music track stuck in my head, by Norwegian techno group from the top of the world (Tromsø), Röyksopp.  The track, entitled "You Don't Have a Clue" (album "Junior"), I would describe the sound as: "ABBA goes to an all-nite rave, somewhere in a cave, tucks away a tab or two of x, and gets lost in itself.  Forever." 

I like being in Seoul, the city stimulates my creativity.  My mind feels far-ranging and vast.  But unfocused.  I bought books today.  I'm already restless to be back home in pitiful Glory County.   It's not that I like it better there than here, it's that I'm really becoming a homebody, these days.  Needing that feeling of stability or something, maybe. 

Caveat: Wait-so-long

The morning dawned utterly cloudless, but definitely fall-like, cooler and with lower humidity.  

I decided to reprise my old commute from Suwon to Gangnam, and it was interesting.  The bus was only half-full – as empty as I've ever seen it on a morning hour.  It is, technically, a holiday.   I was listening to my MP3, on shuffle, and watching the familiar scenery go by.  I love giant cities, and that feeling of anticipation that one gets, coming into one through never-ending suburbs.  Coming into Seoul from the south feels just like approaching Philly from the west, or New York from the north – you pass through alternations of high-density suburbs and green, rural-looking hills covered with trees and striking rock formations.  

I especially like coming through the 우면산 [u-myeon-san] tunnel that the #3000 express bus from Suwon goes through.  You're in green countryside, with only the barest hint that you're on the outskirts of a vast metropolis.  The hills are steep and forested.  And then you go through a toll-gate, plunge into the 3 kilometer tunnel and pop out amid the high-rises of Seocho-gu.  

As the bus burrowed into the tunnel, my MP3 player began to play "Wait So Long" by Trampled by Turtles.  I'm not sure how I feel about this music, but it felt appropriate as I waited for the long tunnel to end.  Trampled by Turtles, by the way, is the most awesome band name, ever.  They're a vaguely "punk" bluegrass outfit from Duluth.  I think I listen to them partly just because of their being from Duluth – I have a ambivalent relationship with bluegrass music.  It's not really my favorite genre, nor even anywhere near the top.  But it was a part of my childhood, and my father is a passing-fair bluegrass and folk musician who plays in amateur gatherings frequently.  I think the Duluth angle, combined with their genre-busting punk leanings, is what makes Trampled by Turtles enjoyable for me.

Teheran-no (the main east-west drag in the high-rent Gangnam district of Seoul) was utterly devoid of traffic.  Seoul does, indeed, become a ghost town on the Chuseok holiday.  I got off at my accustomed stop at the Gangnam subway station, and promptly parked myself in the vast Starbucks half-a-block from the northeast station entrance.

I'm not one of those anti-Starbucks people.  I refuse to get defensive about it – except, by virtue of saying that, and writing in this way about it, I am, in fact, getting defensive about it.  Oh well.

The facts, such as they are:  a) Starbucks is a giant corporation, yes, but I think that, over all, it's more ethical in its policies and behavior than companies such as Google and Facebook, both of which are widely used by many of the same people who proclaim Starbucks to be evil;  b) I own stock in the company, and it's not done well (absolute worst overall performance in my portfolio for the last half-decade, but that's my own fault, for having bought near the peak) – so I feel this weird, irrational, emotional need to "support" them, although that's ridiculous from the standpoint that I'm sure I've spent more money at their stores than I've lost in capital losses on their stock.  To reiterate:  Oh well.  Just remember, each 4 dollar latte that you buy will contribute 1 bazillionth of a cent to my net-worth, so, over a lifetime of latte purchases, I'll have increased my net worth sufficiently to be able to add one more sip.

The vast Starbucks that used to be one of my study haunts when I was trying to be a full-time Korean Language student is utterly deserted.  It's as if there was a North Korean invasion, everyone ran away, and the staff wasn't told.  Hmm.  I'll get back to everyone, on that.

OK.  More later.

Caveat: Merry Chuseok

Today was a day that restored my faith in the value of traveling with no plans whatsoever. In the importance of allowing serendipity to guide one’s footsteps, and just see where things lead.

I have come to Suwon – one of my Korean home towns, at this point. I feel very at ease in this city, although I only technically lived here for about two months, in February and March of this year.  I didn’t come on the bus – I got a ride with an acquaintance, a Korean man with excellent English who happens to be a doctor in Yeonggwang. We had a wide-ranging conversation about many topics, and he got me riffing on linguistics. He may have regretted this, as I can tend to get a little bit too enthusiastic on my favorite subject, and I maybe have overwhelmed him with my talk-talk-talk.

The day was grey and overcast, with low-lying clouds draping themselves over verdent green mountaintops like sleeping kittens. The damp, green fields of South Korea’s breadbasket alternately zoomed and crept past, depending on the flow of traffic – which was bad. Traffic in Korea, during the Chuseok holiday, is like traffic in the US during Thanksgiving. It’s as if God went up to a mountaintop and yelled: “OK, everybody… switch cities! Now!”

We finally got to Suwon’s old city walls’ south gate (Paldalmun) at around 130. I went to the guesthouse where I like to stay, and got my friend Mr Choi’s phone number from the manager there – I’d lost Mr Choi’s number because of my broken cellphone, last month.

Mr Choi said, basically, “Oh wow, Jared, hello. Go to the tea-seller’s shop and wait there!” He said it in Korean. I wasn’t even sure I’d understood. But I deposited my bag into a room at the guesthouse, and ran out and down to the tea-seller’s shop (see this old blog post if you’re wondering who the tea-seller is). There was the tea-seller man, and some friend of his with a very luxurious Samsung Renault car, still smelling of new-car-smell.

We drove to the tea-seller’s apartment, where Mr Choi was hanging out with a bunch of the tea-seller’s family, friends and relatives. They’d literally just cleared the table after their feast as I walked in. They insisted I eat something – so they set a single setting with a modest Chuseok mid-day feast and watched me eat as they drank tea and chatted about whether or not my Korean Language ability had improved. Well, they probably chatted about other things as well, including the weather.

After I finished eating, we drank tea alternating with shots of 12 year scotch whiskey that someone had presented as a gift to the tea-seller, out of the same diminutive cups (the tea and the whiskey had the same amber color, and at one point I became a bit confused about what had been poured in my cup, much to everyone’s amusement).

The tea-seller’s children put in a shy appearance (but it was pleasing that they seemed to remember me fondly – I’d provided them with “free” English tutoring back in March as a sort exchange for my crash course in Korean tea-culture and the tea-seller’s general kindness and friendship, among other things).

Actually, as I sat, gazing out the window at the overcast early afternoon, I reflected that these Koreans were possibly the kindest, most generous Koreans I have met in Korea, among many kind and generous people – I felt amazingly at ease and welcome and comfortable. I need to remember to get the tea-seller’s name and email address from Mr Choi … it’s so strange in Korea that it’s possible to become pretty close friends with someone and not know their name, but that’s the way it works, especially if they’re older than you.

We spent a few hours there, drinking a great deal of 보이차 [bo-i-cha = Chinese “puer” tea], and it was a pretty sympathetic Korean immersion environment.

After that, we drove in Mr Choi’s new car (he has gotten out of managing the guesthouse, and is working for a disabled-person’s advocacy organization – he seems to be doing much better than when I knew him last winter) to a movie theater and watched a movie, rather spontaneously. Chuseok is a big movie-going day (much like Christmas in the US), and we saw the opening day of a Korean movie called “퀴즈왕” [kwi-jeu-wang = quiz prince], about a bunch of inept people who enter a quiz show contest after meeting in a police station one night having all been involved in a giant and surreal traffic accident. I didn’t really follow the intricacies of the plot, although I gathered something about the quiz show’s supposedly “impossible” final question was revealed in some piece of evidence that everyone had had a chance to see while at the police station. About halfway through the movie, I thought, “this movie is a cross between ‘Crash’ and ‘Barney Miller’, seen through the filter of magic-realist Korean cinema.” That about sums it up. I think, despite not having understood it well, I liked it better than Mr Choi: “재미없었어!” was his melodramatic lament, as we made our way out of the theater.

Actually, that’s the first time I’ve been to a Korean movie, without subtitles, in a theater, and more-or-less at least had some idea what was going on. More confidence-building, on the language front.

After that, Mr Choi and I looked for an open restaurant. It was like looking for an open restaurant on Christmas day, in the US. We found a little joint a few blocks from the Paldalmun, and we ate 부대지개 [bu-dae-ji-gae = “Army Camp” stew]. I’ve had this many times, over the years, in Korea, but I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it before. It’s basically a bunch of things that might be found in a Korean army base, thrown together and cooked into a stew:  ramyeon (ramen), spam, hot dogs, kimchi, grass and weeds, tofu….  Delicious? It seems to be a popular thing to order after a hard night of drinking. All Mr Choi and I had had was way too much tea, and a few shots of whiskey, but it was a good meal. The restaurant lady was impressed by my ability to eat kimchi – some Koreans are, when they see a “foreigner” eating kimchi – and she kept bringing more.

Finally, the day was more-or-less ended at a reasonable hour, and I headed back to the guesthouse in the first chilly evening I’ve experienced in months, walking down the familiar alleyways of old Suwon. Is fall finally coming? How appropriate that there should be the barest hint of the Siberian months ahead, on Chuseok evening. The drizzle felt wonderful on the back of my neck. I shivered.

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Caveat: The place where no one wants to live but everyone comes back to

This is the Chuseok holiday – Korean Thanksgiving.  This is the holiday where everyone in Korea goes back to their hometowns and pays respects to their ancestors.  This is a holiday that celebrates traffic jams and excessive drinking.

I went down to the store yesterday, and the lines at the check outs were stretched back down the aisles of the store.  The massive gravel parking lot at the Hanaro Mart (the town Co-op grocery) was absolutely full – which I've never seen before.  The traffic circle was packed with cars in slow orbit, like a Paris intersection. 

This is a town where no one wants to live, but everyone comes back to.  The population must at least double during a "come back to your home town" type holiday.  I went back to hide in my little apartment.  The sky was blue but it was hot, yesterday.  Then last night, somewhat surprisingly, it rained.

I listened to LCD Soundsystem and Atmosphere.  I ate some yellow lentil dhal that I'd made on Sunday.  Today I'm going to attempt to go up to Seoul for a day or two.  I'm not sure how that's going to go.

Caveat: 이것은 흑마늘 매우 맛있구나

I met with my friend Mr Kim, yesterday. We went hiking on Mudeungsan, which I’ve hiked parts of, twice before, but never to the top – it was over 6 hours, round trip, and we were basically jogging down, the last hour, trying to beat the setting sun, because we’d gotten a late start.

The late start was because we’d taken our time. He took me to his alma mater, Chosun University. It has a very attractive campus nestled on a southwest-facing hillside on the eastern edge of downtown Gwangju. It’s probably the most attractive university campus that I’ve seen in Korea, and it reminded me quite a bit of Humboldt State in its hillside layout.

The main building of the campus is against the hillside, quite a ways up, just like Humboldt’s Founder’s Hall is in Arcata. But the building is huge, and of a very distinctive architecture. Seeing it from a distance, looking up at it, I had always assumed it was one of those postmodern follies dating from a recent decade, but today I learned that the building in fact was made in 1946, making it that rarest of Korean architectural gems: a structure that is post-colonial but pre-Korean War – at the height of Americanizing influence in the peninsula, during the post-WWII occupation, but when things were much more idealistic than in the no-more-utopias phase that came after the 6/25/1950 war (as they call it, here).

After the campus tour, we parked at the very touristy base of the mountain, the west-facing, Gwangju entrance of Mudeungsan Park. We then went to one of the plethora of restaurants that cluster there, to serve the infinitude of day-hikers. The place that we went was absolutely the most delicious Korean restaurant I’ve eaten at in recent memory.

One highlight was the 도토리수재비 [do-to-ri-su-jae-bi], which is a kind of nuts and dumplings savory soup or stew. No meat or fish (which always strikes a chord with me), loaded with all sorts of different kinds of roots, veggies and nuts, a thick, umamiful (yes, I just made that word up, but look up umami in wikipedia sometime) broth, and these amazing acorn-flour dumplings (really, they were Korean acorny gnocchi).

The absolute culinary miracle, for me, however, was something I will never forget – my first taste of 흑마늘 [heuk-ma-neul], roasted, sweet, black garlic. Oh, this was a truly amazing treat – imagine whole cloves of garlic with a consistency and vague taste of chocolate, that you can eat like candy.

We finally started hiking at about 1220.

Here are some pictures of the campus and the lunch.  I will put pictures from the actual hike at a later post.

Looking down on the Gwangjuscape from the main building at Chosun University.

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The distinctive and ancient (by modern Korean standards – 1946!) and massive main building of the university.

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The stairs leading down from in front of the main hall to the rest of campus, including the dormitory building and the 16 floor engineering building where my friend Mr Kim studied nuclear engineering back in the 80s, in the distance.

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The spread, for lunch.  Look at all those amazing banchan (side dishes).

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And the really stunning, delicious, unique roasted black garlic.

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Caveat: The Venal Vice Principal Devours My Patience

Donald S. Lopez, Jr., in his book The Story of Buddhism, discusses the bodhisattva Shantideva's argument for patience.  Lopez writes,

When someone strikes us with a stick, do we become angry at the stick or the person wielding the stick?  Both are necessary for pain to be inflicted, but we feel anger only for the agent of our pain, not the instrument.  But the person who moves the stick is himself moved by anger;  he serves as its instrument.  If we are directing our anger against the root cause of the pain, we should therefore direct our anger against anger.

Today, my patience was tested.  I didn't fare so well – I felt a lot of anger.  Mostly, at my vice principal, who seems to be a petty bureaucrat, an unkind person, and, most disturbingly, a venal, xenophobic buffoon.  Yes, all of those things.

I didn't enjoy how his capricious commands ended up leading to my personal possessions and space (what little remains for me at my school – it has been reduced to a shelf in a cabinet, in essence, nothing more – no desk, no closet, no work area) being invaded, rearranged, and disregarded, while I was away teaching class.  I had to go dig my bag of stickers (prizes for students) out of a heap of seeming trash, and my toothbrush and toothpaste was in another pile.

The vice principal isn't so much a 'stick' being wielded by anger so much as a 'stick' being wielded by incompetence, I would say.  Combined with an utter disregard for human kindness.  That stick, in turn, wielded the stick of my coworkers' disregard for my personal space, which struck me and led to anger.  I felt anger.

The man is a caricature.  If I was watching a Korean drama, and there was to be an annoying, incompetent-to-the-point-of-dangerous, petty bureaucrat, he could fill the role, without having to take acting lessons of any kind.

I need to just get over it.  It's no big deal, right?  Where's my patience?  I really don't want to become one of those people who spend all his time in Korea complaining about Korea.  That's just… a waste of my time.  Right?  I meet people like that, all the time, and they drive me nuts.  But jeez…  I've felt so much frustration, lately.  With the language.  With the bureaucratic incomptence of my school's administrative staff.  With my commute.  With just this and that.

Caveat: Cute Monsters, Kimbap, Cake, etc.

Thank you, all, for the happy birthday wishes!

This blog post will be a disorganized miscellany.

1. We made “monsters” in my first-grade afterschool class on Monday.  This picture shows some of my favorites.

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2. On Tuesday, our “Yeonggwang Study Group” of foreign teachers, that’s been taking shape to try to study some Korean Language together, met at Anelle’s and learned how to make kimbap (a sort of Korean take on what Americans call “California Roll” and often incorrectly identify as sushi, which is something completely different).  Kimbap has things like radish, ham, crab, cucumber and carrot rolled together with rice in a sheet of seaweed.  Here is a picture of my first-ever kimbap that I made.

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3. I have so far received 16 happy-birthday wishes on facebook, as well as several non-facebook induced emails. Not only that, but several of my English-teaching colleagues at Hongnong Chodeung Hakgyo threw a sort of surprise party for me, with a little fruit-topped cake bought from the Yeonggwang Paris Baguette shop. I was deeply flattered and touched. Birthdays are hard for me – they always have been. I have a deeply disharmonious relationship with the passage of time, and birthdays are a notably overt marker of this. But it’s pleasing to be “appreciated” by a little party, especially since it was a genuine surprise – I really wasn’t expecting it.

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Caveat: Wednesday’s Child

My mother reports that I was born on a Wednesday.  I'm not sure about all the woe.  I suppose I've had my share, but can I say I've had exceptional amounts in comparison to my other-day-of-the-week peers, on average?  Not necessarily.  Or is that just revisionism?

    Monday's child is fair of face,
    Tuesday's child is full of grace,
    Wednesday's child is full of woe,
    Thursday's child has far to go,
    Friday's child is loving and giving,
    Saturday's child works hard for a living,
    But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
    Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Caveat: 1) 지극한 마음으로 부처님께 귀의합니다

“I turn to the Buddha with all my heart.”

I’m definitely sick. I thought I was feeling better, yesterday morning, but I felt like I had a fever all day.  Often, when I know I have a fever, I deliberately don’t take medicine, because my understanding is that a low-grade fever can help the body fight whatever infection it’s fighting – the fever has the function of making the environment hostile to the infection.  I have no idea if this really good practice, but it’s always been my way of coping, though it’s uncomfortable. Partly it’s because I just don’t like taking medicine.  It always feels like an assault on my existential autonomy, although that’s philosophically inconsistent if not downright ridiculous.

Last night, when I got home, I felt really rotten. I began watching some shoot-em-up action flick on the TV, but it was really annoying. I have limited patience for Bruce Willis. I changed to the Buddhist channel. I sometimes will watch this as sort of background noise, because there’s lots of complex Korean to listen to, it’s culturally interesting, and the wacky-yet-banal informercials can be an entertaining contrast.

I’ve come to realize that every evening around 6 PM, the Buddhist channel runs a sort of day-end prayer, which are in the form of 108 affirmations. Lots of Buddhist ritual comes in sets of 108, which is an important number for Buddhists.

Anyway, the title to this blog entry is affirmation number one:

1. 지극한 마음으로 부처님께 귀의합니다.

Google translate, with typical guileless aplomb, asserts that this means “Buddha mind is extreme ear.”  Which might make a good title for a comedy involving a philosophical meditation on the daredevil the body parts of great thinkers.  But I think a good translation might be:  “I turn to the Buddha with all my heart.”  The first word, “지극한” is an adjectivalized form of the descriptive verb “지극하다,” which literally means “extreme” but in this context, I think it can mean “the depths of,” i.e. “all,” modifying “마음” “heart.”

I am not becoming a Buddhist. Not in terms of commitment. I can’t – I’m a dialectical materialist, and deeply committed to an anti-spiritual, anti-transcendent worldview. But I have strong sympathies for Buddhist practices, and I have found a lot of pragmatic “peace of mind” in Buddhist-style meditative practice, specifically (such as Zen and Vipassana). And I have been encouraged by the fact that when I say things like “I’m an atheist” to Buddhists, I don’t get the shocked and alarmed reaction of Christians, who immediately begin to worry over the fate of my soul. Buddhists, on the other hand, generally say things like, “that’s OK,” or “It doesn’t really matter.” Because they express no hostility toward my worldview, I feel no hostility toward theirs. Peace begets peace.

The morning is foggy. One thing I like about the weather in Glory County, Korea, is the prevalence of fog. It takes me back to my childhood, and the Pacific fogs of the Northern California coast.

CaveatDumpTruck Logo

Caveat: a-dreamin’ intertextualities

Sometimes I have such strange dreams.  I awoke from one, just now.

In the dream, I was reading a children's story.  I suppose, given what I've been doing for a living, that that's not so unexpected.  But in the dream, the children's story was in a weird mixture of Korean and English (real children's stories tend not to look like that), and had been written by my former LBridge colleague, Jinhee.   And it turned out that she'd incorporated me as a character into her story.  The story was about a group of Korean kids who go around solving little mysteries and problems in their community, which was a vast, densely populated suburb much like Ilsan.  It basically was Ilsan, but was never named as such.

One such mystery they solve is the "mystery of the missing soju" – yes, that's funny.  And not that unrealistic, maybe?  Hah.  They find out that at their school's hoesik (staff get-together dinner) the night before, a bunch of soju had disappeared, and they go about solving where it went.  It turned out the vice principal drank it.  All with very cute illustrations, and a nice moral at the ending, about maybe one shouldn't drink so much soju at hoesik events.

So strange, to be reading such a vivid and peculiar yet utterly apropos story, in a dream.  I've often had "textual" dreams of this sort, but few quite like this.

And the next part of the story has the kids running into their "crazy English teacher Jared" while riding a bus to the mall.  In the dream, I feel this mixed feeling of humility and pride at being included in the story by my friend Jinhee.  The kids convince the story character, Jared, that he needs to help them solve a mystery involving a missing puppy.   For some strange reason, to solve this mystery, the kids have to put together and then perform a drama production for a group of high-powered American business executives – hence the need for their crazy English teacher's help. 

So I help them write and perform the drama.  We put together a plot that involves a group of inept superheroes (a little bit a la The Incredibles?) who are being asked to work as office temps in a big company, and the superheroes end up saving the day by finding a missing puppy.

Seriously.  My dream was becoming an intertextual labyrinth of Cervantine proportions.   I'm having a dream in which I'm a character in a story in which that character (who is me) is writing a drama and helping some kids find a missing puppy, and in the drama-in-the-story-in-the-dream, there are some superheroes that are helping to find a missing puppy.  Got it?

The drama goes as planned, and induces the American business executive who apparently stole the puppy to come clean and return it to the crying little girl.  It's a scooby doo ending.  Added twist of irony:  the nefarious business executive in the story is a splitting image of my erstwhile nemesis from Aramark Corporation, CIO Bob McCormick.  I find myself wondering, in the dream:  "How did my friend Jinhee know that that's what evil American business executives looked like?"

But then I notice there's a typo in the story I'm reading:  the word "clearly" is written as "claxli" – this is an "impossible" typo… at the least, it's a highly improbable one.  What I mean by this, is that in the dream, I'm suddenly struck by the fact that "claxli" is not the sort of typo that happens in the "real world."  And somehow this jarring fact causes me to become aware that I'm dreaming.   And in the dream, now aware that I'm dreaming, I look up to see my friend Jinhee trying to present me with a copy of the story book she'd written, and I think to myself, I should tell her about the typo, but then I think, "oh, it's just a dream, so it doesn't really matter that much." 

So I just thank her for the story, and for including me in it, and then we walk into a hoesik where some kids are doing a performance of the drama from the story for their school administration and staff (including the vice principal of the missing soju).  And I think to myself, in the dream, "pues, de veras, la vida es sueño" (a reference to Pedro Calderón de la Barca's famous Spanish Golden Age drama, "Life Is a Dream"), and then I wake up.

It's six AM on the dot, although I'd turned off my alarm, and it hadn't gone off.  The window is open, the rain has stopped, and there's an almost-coolness in the air, that seems alien and unnatural after so many months of humid, sweltering heat.  It makes me think of Minnesota.

My stomach was feeling very upset yesterday (possibly, in part, stress-induced, from the difficult emotional week I'd endured last week), and it is still feeling unsettled.  I'm feeling a bit under the weather, definitely.  But what interesting dreams I sometimes have, when sick.

Caveat: Thunderstorms at Dawn

As was probably pretty obvious, I was feeling discouraged, last night.  I still am.  But I'll get over it.

This morning, it was thundering and pouring, rain, which de-motivated me in my plan to go into Gwangju this morning – I have some shopping I want to do, and I wanted to try to meet my friend Seungbae.  But anyway…

There is an immediacy to writing in a blog – you get my feelings of each particular moment.  I don't always try to tone down those feelings, or edit out the bad parts.  So it will swing back and forth, positive to negative to positive again.  Such is life.

I was watching Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert episodes this morning.  I particularly enjoyed Stewart's segment on the show dated Sept 9, by Wyatt Cenac, in which a Staten Island version of the SCOTUS struck down California's prop 8.  This gives hope for American values of tolerance, despite everything.

And this:  "…the greatest honor this nation can bestow:  free tee-shirts." – Stephen Colbert, in a show saluting war veterans.

Caveat: Zero of the most important things

Hard, hard week.  I'm pretty frustrated.

The two most important things in my life right now are:  1) improve my teaching;  2) improve my Korean language ability.

I made progress in exactly zero of these two important things, this past week.

With respect to teaching:  it was a challenging week, with chaotic, misbehaving children, messed-up lesson plans, a feeling of dullness and lack of dynamism in my interactions with kids.

With respect to trying to improve my Korean:  it seemed like every time I tried to say anything in Korean, I was hyper-corrected, laughed at, mocked, or ignored.  And the Koreans wonder why we Westerners so often give up on trying to learn the language.  When you're told "you're saying that wrong" ten times in one day, when you're laughed at for trying ,when you're stared at incomprehendingly after having spent over five minutes carefully trying to craft a meaningful sentence in your head before giving it utterance, you begin to lose hope.

Caveat: Growing Up as an Anchor Baby in Hibbing

I found an interesting editorial in the LA Times about the concept of "anchor babies," with a Korean angle. I think it's worth reading. 

Starting last week, my new schedule included the sixth grade (in place of the fourth graders who I was with in the spring), for the "main curriculum" English classes. And then this week, all sixth grade English classes were cancelled, because the sixth graders got to take a class trip to Jeju.

So I'm finding myself with some time to kill, at work. This, combined with the fact that we have finally begun to settle into our newly remodeled English classroom (pictures coming soon, maybe), meaning that there's an actual computer with actual internet access that doesn't have a line of teachers waiting to use it like the ones in the staff room. Hence my websurfing activities.

Caveat: The Wilderness Downtown

"The Wilderness Downtown" is an experimental music "video" written using HTML5 by googloids.  It's pretty cool – you need Chrome to view it.  You put in your home address, and it uses footage from Google Earth and Street View to incorporate your actual house into the video, dynamically.  I can't decide if this is creepy or awesome.  Call it crawesome.

I put in my childhood home, in Arcata, and saw the very recognizable dead-end street with Peggy and Latif's cars in the driveway (Peggy and Latif being the current residents of the house where I grew up).  And there were some animated trees marching up 11th street.  Very strange.

The music is by Arcade Fire.  Not too bad.  The technical implementation of the video – which calls up large numbers of windows in a rather random way – is deficient in that it fails to deal very well with the small, non-standard-size screen of my Asus netbook computer.  The windows all hide each other and you can't see more than half of the ones it calls up.  The code would have to somehow do better at reading the display size and used scaled-down, lower resolution windows depending on what it found, maybe.

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