Gorilla Teacher: Diaries of a Young American in South Korea

Teaching English and Living in Bundang (and Seoul), South Korea- Your FAQ Answered!

2011-08-21T08:26:00.001+09:00

<---Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues--->I'm Moving to Korea for a Year (And So is This Blog)!

Updated: 8/21/2011 with New Questions!

This FAQ is based on my experiences teaching at a language institute in Bundang (Leadersville English Institute, formerly Seoul Language Institute) from October 2007-October 2008, on my experiences teaching at Elite Academy in Yeonheedong in Summer 2010, and on my research and conversations with people living and working in Korea today.

I. Job Questions

II. Bundang Questions

III. General Lifestyle Questions

IV. Final Thoughts

IV. Questions from Stephanie Yoder of twenty-somethingtravel.com

I. Job Questions

Would you recommend a recruiter? If so, which?

I actually came through a friend. (This link provides his 10 helpful going-to-Korea tips.) If you have any friends in Korea, I'd suggest contacting them and trying to go through the referral route. The reason why I enjoyed this route was because I knew EXACTLY what I was getting into. Plus, I already had a friend in Korea, which gave me a jumpstart in my social life.

That being said, beware of recruiters who

1) Are hesitant/unwilling to give you current contact information of teachers who work at school to which you may be employed.

2) Are evasive/unresponsive when you ask them difficult questions.

3) Tend to assuage your worries with no specific details but a general "don't worry, it's fine."

Would you recommend public or private?

From what I understand, public school positions are more difficult to get. I think (and I stress I think) that you will make less money at a public school, but you will absolutely get more vacation time. Take that for what it's worth. For an in-depth look at life at public schools, check out this post at kimchi-icecream.

The pay at my hagwon (language academy. Some people use the pejorative "cram school") was about 2,300,000 won a month (about 2 grand American, but with the exchange rate these days, it fluctuates.) Our vacation time was minimal; mainly the big Korean holidays. I still managed to use the days wisely and took trips to Beijing, Fukuoka, Bangkok, and Phuket over the course of the year.

For a more detailed listing of differences between public and private schools, check out Chris Snyder's very comprehensive FAQ here.

E2 Visas? HUH? What the hell am I supposed to do?

Again, I turn it over to Chris.

Is it possible to get a summer job in Korea? Because every job posting I see is for a full year.

My answer to this question got long, so I moved it to its own page: How to Find a Summer Job Teaching in South Korea

Is my contract okay? How do I know if it's okay?

That's tricky business. Too often, Korean schools renege on contract stipulations. In Korea, spoken word easily overrides the written contract. Since they're usually better relegated, I believe that public schools and universities will generally keep to their contract more than hagwons (English academies). Still, at the risk of being a downer, that's not always the case. I've had friends who've taught at universities who were screwed on their pensions. I worked at a hagwon, and my friends and I were screwed on room deposits which we were supposed to get back and never did.

So, research all you can, but there is a certain leap of faith involved with signing. To ease your worries, the best way is to somehow, some way find teachers who teach or who have taught at the school you're considering. If that means trolling Facebook and running into some unproductive corners, so be it. Talk to somebody at the school. Ask that somebody if his work experience is what he expected given his contract, and ask to speak to somebody who's recently completed his or her contract. It's good to talk to a foreign teacher who's worked at your school, finished the job, and lived to see the day. Sometimes recruiters will give you the runaround, so you may have to find those avenues yourself.

Okay, I'm talking to a school that's interested in me. What questions should I ask the school?

1) Is airfare and apartment provided immediately upon signing of contract or is it later reimbursed? (Note: Give preference to schools that'll pay for your roundtrip ticket immediately.)

2) How far is the apartment from the school? Is it walking distance? (This is also important- subways and buses are great in Korea..if you're going out to party on a Saturday night. If you want to get to work on a Tuesday morning, it's much better to work in a place where you can walk to work.)

3) How many foreign teachers? (You don't want to be the only American teacher. It's lonely. You want a bunker of Americans/Canadians/whomever to commisserate with over cultural differences and work curiosities.)

4) Do I work Saturdays? (Some schools make you work Saturdays; others don't.)

5) May I have contact information of a couple current teachers? (If the school is hesitant to give such contact info to you, might be a bad sign.)

6) Will the school pay for my visa? (If you're going for the year, you at the very least ought to be reimbursed for the visa.)

Is the curriculum very flexible or does your school give you exactly what you have to teach and tell you how to teach it?

At Leadersville English Institute in Sunae, I had a certain roster of classes; sometimes they changed depending on the month. My smallest class was like five; my largest was maybe eighteen. There were certain guidelines on how to teach, but once you got in the classroom, you were on your own to develop your style and personality as a teacher. As long as you stayed pretty faithful to the book assigned for each class, you had some leeway to experiment and find outside material to complement your classes. At LEI, since it's a hagwon, the parents ruled the roost. That means if the kids liked you and thought you were doing a good job, well, that meant you were doing a good job for all intensive purposes. (I can't stress this enough. At hagwons, PARENTS RULE!) At most hagwons, the kids expect homework. No matter what they tell you, they expect homework. You can afford to be generous and not give homework on a random holiday here and there, but generally, you're expected and specifically ordered to give homework every day. But aside from CCTV cameras on the ceiling, nobody is in your classroom watching you. For me that's a big relief. I felt very relaxed in my classrooms.

Do teachers tend to work split shifts?

At LEI (Leadersville English Institute in Bundang), teachers work about 4pm-11pm every month (NOTE: This has changed. LEI now closes at 10pm. In 2009, a new law was passed that forbid hagwons in Seoul from staying open past 10.) In January and in late June-mid August, hagwons enter "busy season," when students don't have regular school and instead go to hagwon all day. Busy season is rough, but makes you appreciate your regular schedule more. In terms of the 4-11 schedule, teachers typically have breaks in between, typically long enough to get either a quick or leisurely dinner and prep for classes. In short, the regular schedule allows a nice deal of freedom. You get to sleep in, go to the gym, and sometimes even take a bus into Seoul all before work.

At other jobs, you may work split shifts. At Elite Academy in Yeonheedong, where I worked in Summer 2010, I had some days where I worked 9am-1pm and nights from 630-9pm. That was a bummer, particularly because you may very well end up working in between your split shifts to prepare.

How large are your classes?

I kind of got into this in an earlier answer, but the numbers ranged from as small as three to as large as twenty-two for the TOEFL classes at Leadersville.

At my job in Yeonheedong, my classes were uniformly small. My largest numbered ten students.

Are the kids pretty well behaved?

Generally yes. If you're comfortable and confident with kids, you'll do great. (I wrote that during my third month teaching. Later, I discovered that you don't want to be too comfortable, or else the kids will walk over you. Call yourself Mr. Alex or Ms. Britney Spears. Show some degree of authority. You're not their buddy!)

That's what it's all about: veing comfortable and confident to the point where you can have fun but still be stern when you need to be, and also, where you can adjust to the personalities of different classes. I figure it's a thing you can improve on, but I also feel, in my opinion, it's something some people just have and others just...don't. But versus the horror stories I hear from Teach for Americaers, this job is a dream. Most kids are very sweet and eager to learn, and the ones that aren't...the worst they do is talk alot and be a tad disrespectful. (This is not uniform. I cannot guarantee that one of your students will not be a little devil.) But with those kids, in my experience, a reproachful look will silence them quickly. (Maybe, maybe not. I was kind of idealistic when I wrote this.)

One tip that good teachers have given me: be strict in the beginning with your classes, then, gradually, ease up. This is a much more prudent strategy than the reverse: being a "buddy" to the students, and then trying to toughen your stance. Trust me on this.

II. BUNDANG QUESTIONS

You taught in Bundang, right? What's Bundang like?

I've always liked its status as a place near the raw busy energy of Seoul but far enough away so as not to make its inhabitants feel overwhelmed or overstimulated by it. Then again, some other teachers prefer being closer to the pulse of Seoul, but if you're content in being in a city-like suburb and only thirty minutes to an hour from most of the Seoul hotspots, then you'll be satisfied.

With my experience in Yeonheedong in 2010, which is mere minutes away from the bustling Hongdae and Sinchon, I appreciate Bundang retrospectively even more. Bundang's wide boulevards, trees, and parks provide plenty of places to lounge and study or chat or just chill. Bundang delivers this more than busier areas.

Anything else about Bundang? Nightlife?

Some teachers online say Bundang is boring..to be honest..that kind of talk pisses me off! I think the only people who could be bored are those that want a party-drink-bar-hopping lifestyle. I mean, you can drink in Bundang if you want, but most foreigners who are into that congregate at this bar in Seohyeon called Dublins Irish Bar. There's also WaBar, which is a Westernized-style bar with a popular dart board. My friend and I agree that the people who kvetch are probably the type of people who want more American style partying. If that's what those people want, they'd be better off in Itaewon, a foreigner-heavy nightlife district.

I want even more information on BUNDANG. I'm talking nitty-gritty stuff that you don't see much on the internet. What can you tell me?

I lived near Sunae Station in Bundang, and I was very satisfied with the Bundang lifestyle. Yes, it was slower-paced than Hongdae or Sinchon; those two spots do have a more happening nightlife. Still, at least for me, I prefer Hongdae and Sinchon as places to visit/frequent over the weekends rather than places to live. Those neighborhoods are always VERY VERY CROWDED and also you'll probably drop alot of money there if you like to go out. Plus, it's not difficult to get from Bundang into Hongdae, Sinchon, Gangnam, or Itaewon (aka foreigner central). For Hongdae, from my neighborhood Sunae in Bundang, it's about a thirty minute bus ride followed by a ten minute cab to Hongdae on a typical Saturday night. If you take the subway to Hongdae, yeah, it is a very long time, but the bus-taxi combo works fine.

Anyways, about Bundang itself, popular neighborhoods include Jeongja, Sunae, Seohyeon, Ori, Moran, Taepyong, and Imae. If you're after good Korean food, you can find alot of it in Bundang. If you're looking for good Western food, you won't find too much of it there. (At this Mexican restaurant called Le Merce in Seohyeon, you have to FIGHT for chips and salsa. I'm not kidding. You have to argue for chips and salsa, only to get a thimble of salsa and a cup of chips. It's a travesty. And as for Italian, the choices are very mediocre.) That being said, if you're open-minded to Korean food and like to try spicy dishes, you'll be in good shape.

PROS OF BUNDANG: busy but not too crowded, many food choices, strong access to any subway or bus you'll need, and you can walk very easily to find things you want. Oh, and Bundang is VERY SAFE. It's an awesome feeling: there were many times I've walked home alone at 5am in the morning and I felt very, very comfortable. I would never do that in Memphis or Atlanta.

CONS OF BUNDANG: Yes, comparing to some other neighborhoods, it is kind of far from the heart/s of Seoul. Is it "soulless"? Hm, I think that characterization is a little harsh, but I suppose I can see where it comes from: many of the neighborhoods in Bundang do look fairly identical: same gimbop shops, same Paris Baguette bakeries, same Outback Steakhouses. Bundang is very "clean," which some people might consider whitewashed and/or boring. Still, they'll have the sexual massage two-barber polled shops two stories above a family restaurant bustling with kids. There you go. It has to have some kind of character.

The social scene is solid. I guess it depends on what you're looking for. As I mentioned, Dublins in Seohyeon is the center of the expat community. You can grab a beer there and chat with Canadians or Americans, and sometimes listen to live music. Monkey Beach is a club with a more varied clientele and buckets of liquor. (I'm not a big fan of either bar, but I'm trying to cover the bases here. Also, note that I wrote this information in 2008. The hotspots may have shifted.)

How about the daylife in Bundang?

You have options: you can bike along the Tancheon River, or better yet, play outdoor basketball on full-length courts bridging the river. Pick-up games are an interesting mix of Korean teenagers, American and Canadian teachers, and the occasional Korean professional who'll invite you to go to his church on a Sunday.

Central Park is the perfect spot for an impromptu round of frisbee in the fall, or a snowball fight in December. An ice rink opens up for public use in mid to late January. Kites fly high in the spring. In the summer, I watched four simultaneous games of youth soccer on one day, and remote-controlled toy cars zipping off ramps with X-Games-like gusto on another. It was madness, I tell you, madness!

Do people in Bundang road bike/speedskate/cross country ski?

Hm. Well, like an hour and a half from Bundang is Chuncheon, which is a place perfect for all the outdoors activities you mention. I went there by train and bus with teachers before last winter hit and it's a outdoorsman's paradise. You can road bike. You can speed skate. You can ski. Pretty close by. Not in Bundang itself, but close enough where you can make it part of your life.

Bundang-wise, Central Park and the Tancheon River provide nearby greenery and all its trappings.

III. General Lifestyle Questions

Is South Korea safe?

Here's a story: I'm in an empty laundromat near Yonsei University. It's 9pm on a Friday night. It's dark and sweaty and summertime. I'm loading a towel into a washer when I hear a door swish open behind me. I turn around. There is one man; there is one man wearing a white t-shirt embroidered with a big teddy bear and valentine hearts. Korean-style. Scientifically speaking, I do not think it is possible for a man in a teddy bear shirt to be violent. My hypothesis is proven correct on this particular night.

Welcome to South Korea, where children joke about Kim Jong Il and his nuclear arsenal and where men are more likely to wear matching Mickey Mouse t-shirts with their girlfriends than they are to pick your pockets. Compare this with my experience in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where within one month, I knew six people who'd been burgled.

South Korea is very safe. Very rarely you'll hear stories about English teachers getting into trouble. There's some crime in Itaewon, but if you like a regular life with an occasional sprinkling of beer and soju, you shouldn't have any issues.

Even at 3am, you can walk the streets in peace.

Do a lot of Koreans know English?

It depends on where you teach. If you go into the countryside, or up in the mountains, you're less likely to find English-speaking Koreans. However, if you teach in the busy foreigner-heavy neighborhoods of Seoul (i.e. Gangnam, Hongdae, Itaewon) you'll probably hear the swirl of spoken English around you. Where I taught, Bundang ( a bustling city/suburb kinda in Seoul, kinda out), most of the Koreans in restaurants/department stories did not speak much English, but this didn't pose much of a problem, for learning the names of Korean food is easy (and fun!), as are the common pleasantries (i.e. "Cho-gee-yo!", which means "Come to my table!" in English. If it sounds kind of impolite to say "Come to my table!", don't worry. That's how they do it in Korea!)

By the way, did you learn a fair amount of Korean quickly? I would like to be able to read/speak the language...at least with enough accuracy to get by.

Hangul is fairly easy to learn how to read (alot of "ahs" and "ngs" and "ughs") but difficult to speak and understand with the Western tongue. To pick up the names of the foods is tricky at first but a cinch with immersion. Once you got the food names down, it makes ordering a breeze. (A couple popular names you may already know: "kim-bop", Korea's seaweed-wrapped variation of sushi and "sahm-gyep-sahl," the gloriously tasty three layers of pork belly meat.)

Anyway, I didn't learn how to speak Korean much beyond the names of the foods, a few pleasantries, saying "I am an American" ("me-gook sah-rahm") and knowing how to say "left" and "right" to tell the cabbie where to go. (Though cab rides don't require much conversation anyway, because typically you'll just be asking him to take you to a popular subway stop rather than a complicated-sounding street.)

I had a friend who studied Korean independently through websites and textbooks. He learned alot and seemed to be able to hold elementary conservations. Another friend went a more structured route, taking morning classes at a school in Gangnam. It wasn't easy for either of them, and I don't think they're fluent. I'm learning Spanish now, and to have a familiar alphabet, damn, it's an easier road!

Still, if you're keen on picking up Korean beyond the basics, it shouldn't be too difficult to find Koreans wanting to learn English to do a kind of an language exchange. If you're lucky, one of your co-workers might fit this bill. Ideally, their English will already be at a strong level so they can explain conceptual, linguistic ideas to you. If their English is already good, chances are, the more Western-minded among them will be aching for a chance to practice it with you. That'd be a win-win.

Can't find anybody for language exchange in your school? Check out conversationexchange.com! Great resource that I've used with success in Argentina. I imagine it'll work just as well in South Korea.

Is it easy to make friends in South Korea?

If you teach in a school with a fair amount of foreigners (When I say foreigners, I mean American and Canadians. Once in a while you'll find Brits or Aussies or New Zealanders as well), it is easy to make friends, for you guys are almost like a military unit (in terms of togetherness in a foreign land, not in terms of the threat of gunfire.) Being friends with teachers in your school often extends to other relationships outside the school, with other foreigners.

I'd recommend teaching at a school with at least eight foreign teachers. My school, Leadersville English Institute in Bundang, had about a dozen. This provided a great launching pad for social interaction- after all, all of you guys are in the same shoes, strangers in a strange land, so this leads to quick friendships, some of which may very well last long after your contract. (I'm happy to say I keep in consistent touch with five or so of my former colleagues.)

The Americans/Canadians I met who had more difficulties were the ones who were the only English teachers at their school. One teacher taught in the Korean countryside; he was kind of depressed about his solitude, but even he found friendships in groups like Seoul Writing Workshop.

If you're talking about making friendships with Koreans, that can be more difficult, but it is by no means impossible. In both my real-life experience and from what I've heard from friends and read in books, Koreans are often friendly to foreign teachers, but are not always "friends" with foreign teachers. What I mean is that there seems to be a certain cautiousness many Koreans apply to friendships with foreigners; they might go out with you and to a bar or for a pick-up basketball game, but often they'll want some Korean company in the mix as well. (Obviously, there are exceptions: Koreans extremely eager to make foreign friends, either because they really want to practice their English, or because they're just excited to meet new people, or both.)

My Japanese friend said that my extrovert personality would scare people away in Japan! What do you think about in South Korea?

In my experience, I've found Koreans to have an interesting sense of volume control. What I mean is that in the pubs and the bars, they can be drinking and eating and playing darts loudly, earning their tag as, "The Italians of the East." On the other hand, they have a strong sense of decorum; even on a Saturday night, the subway cars can be strangely silent, with teenagers with earphones watching TV on their cell phones, or businessmen reading conversational English books, or red-eyed ajummas (older women) staring into window panes. At one point, my friends and I were given looks on a bus on Korea, not because we were intoxicated and belligerent, but just because we were having a lively conversation.

Reading the stories on your blog, it seems like you've enjoyed your time as a foreigner living in Korea. How about the downsides?

Downsides can be what you expect- cultural alienation, particularly once the honeymoon newness of Korea wears off. Some people don't dig the Korean food (I loved it) and Western chains/products are on the expensive side. Koreans tend to shush Americans (or Canadians, for that matter) in buses, even if those Americans aren't being particularly loud. When it comes to work, language can sometimes be misconstrued between Korean and expats. Not in a malicious way, but just in a not-understanding way. Your Korean supervisor's English may be not-so-great, thus meaning once in a while he may tell you to go to one classroom and you'll go to different one. That's part of the game.

One thing I would suggest: do not go work at a school where you'll be the only foreign teacher. Even if you think such an experience would be a unique chance at complete cultural immersion, you'll get enough doses of Korean culture outside your job. You do not want to be the lone ranger in a foreign workplace, particularly one with a mixed reputation for its communication with foreign teachers. In such a situation, you will be lonely. I've had multiple conversations with Westerners who were the only native English speakers at their school, and without exception, they all envied those who worked with at least a few expats.

As an American teaching English in Korea, I was treated with a generous amount of respect by the locals. When I'd come across parents of students outside of my workplace, the parents were polite and thankful for me teaching their kids. So where's the downside? The downside comes in the other facets of a foreign English teacher's reputation in Korea, particularly the male foreign English teacher. Koreans think we're horndogs. Yep, I said horndogs. They think we're out to bed their innocent Korean women and run away once our contracts expire, leaving the women shamed and left behind. Dateline NBC -esque programs on Korean television portray foreign English teachers in a less than flattering light. So do some newspapers. Is there any truth to these stereotypes? Of course, but as you can probably surmise, it takes two to tango. These Westerners aren't colonialist beasts forcing themselves onto Korean women; these relationships are mutual. Still, I've had friends who've dated Korean women, and those women (in their twenties, mind you) refused to divulge the nature of their relationships to their friends or families for fear of loss of reputation. So, there you go. Forbidden love, Romeos and Juliets. Proceed with caution.

In terms of where to live, would you recommend Seoul over Busan? Or would you recommend Seoul period?

I only spent one night in Busan, but from the little I've seen, it's an attractive city. I think it's actually bidding for an upcoming Olympics. So, an up-and-coming city on the world stage. The climate is a bit better than Seoul's: milder winters and milder summers. Busan has alot going on. Seoul is Seoul. It's huge, it's crowded, and you're guaranteed to find some area that tickles your fancy. In other words, it'll have all the trappings of a big ole major world city. In short, if I were you, I would look at my own needs, but don't count out Busan, especially if you find an appealing school.

How's your housing?

Varies depending on the school. In Bundang, I lived in Royal Palace Houseville, an ultra-modern apartment tower with heated floors. Internet was speedy and comparable to what you'd find on a college campus. The cost, at least in my case and I figure most people's, was taken out of my paycheck. In fairness though, some teachers didn't have as posh spots, and as for Royal Palace, you didn't get a huge space...just a cozy nook of a studio. Expectations are key. Generally though, it really depends on who hires you and where you're living.

In my summer job in Yeonheedong, I was placed in a tiny crib of a studio that lacked a full-sized fridge. The place had a hot plate but no sink, which prevented any real cooking. Luckily, the air conditioner worked well. I didn't mind living here for two months, but I would not dig it for a full year.

The bottom line is this: Talk to current teachers about housing before you commit to a year-long stay anywhere.

Do you find the ex pat community pretty tight with each other?

I must confess: I came into a fortunate situation. My college buddy recruited me to work so I already had a good friend coming in. I spent much of my year with my co-workers, but I did expand my network by joining a foreigner writing group that met bi-weekly. (Seoul Writers, if you're interested. Click the aforementioned link or search for them on Facebook and tell them I sent you!) There's also a Bundang Social Club that you can find via Facebook search. The group schedules frequent events at area bars, in which you are guaranteed to meet fellow expat teachers. Itaweon has many ex-pats; you can find many in Hongdae as well.

Can I bring my XBox/Wii/Playstation?

Go ahead and bring it. I have a buddy who has a Wii and uses it in Korea. You may need one or two things to use your system: one is one of those universal adapter plugs, the kind you can get at any Target or Wal-Mart. The other is a voltage converter, a big box that typically runs $40-$80 and ensures that the voltage counts will prevent you from being electrocuted when you plug in your xBox. (Alternatively, if your XBox comes with one of those computer-like laptop plug-in adaptors, you may not need a voltage converter at all.)

How about soju? I keep hearing about soju...

You're looking for more traditional Korean-style of nightlife? Then, soju, soju, soju, soju! They'll drink it everywhere in every neighborhood in every corner of the city. Sometimes they'll drink it on tables in front of 24/7 convenience stores, but more often they quaff it in these places called "Hofs," dimly-lit 24-hour spots that serve hot Korean food and cold drinks. You can find these anywhere, and they represent a cornerstone of the late-late-late-nightlife. Koreans don't like to just drink; they prefer to drink and eat. My main point here though is that you'll find this in any area you find yourself in.

*new August 2011* How do Koreans look at foreigners with tattoos?

In terms of Seoul, I think it depends on what part of town you're frequenting. More artsy, foreigner-friendly areas like Itaewon and Hongdae will welcome your tattooed self, but in more out-of-the-way areas of the city/the outskirts, you might get a few double-takes.

At the same time, it may be hard to determine whether you're getting the double-takes because of your tattoos or because you're a foreigner period :)

*new August 2011* Will Koreans look down at me for being from the southern USA?

Most Koreans you'll meet don't distinguish much between regions of America. Basically, to them, you're an American. Jonesboro, Arkansas means the same thing as St. Paul, Minnesota means the same thing as Santa Fe, New Mexico. Perhaps I'm overstating it a bit, but I don't think I am. You're an American first over there.

That being said, life can different for black Americans living in Korea. If you're curious about perspectives from black Americans in Korea, check out this or this.

IV. Final Thoughts

Would you do it again? Would you have rather gone else where?

I'm glad I went to South Korea. Having visited Japan (another popular teach-English-in-Asia choice), I have to say, I think Korean food is far more dynamic: spicy, tasty, and varied. (If you like pork and kimchi and spices that singe your tongue, you'll be in heaven!) Teaching English in South Korea also offers the best pay; it's to your advantage that South Korea isn't an internationally "sexy" spot, because as a result, the schools have to raise the stakes and convince you to go. This is good for an English teacher wanting to make money and do some traveling, for you can visit those other Asian hotspots during your vacation, and still have enough money leftover to support an upper-middle-class lifestyle and/or pay off student loans from back home. If you're still in doubt, read this account of my New Year's Eve in Korea. It can be a magical place.

So it's worth the jump?

It's worth it- as long as you are careful to select the right school, one that pays for your apartment and your two-way airfare. Don't accept an offer with a stipend for housing or a clause in a contract that tells you to pay your own airfare, so then the school will pay you back later. This is risky; I've read/heard of many instances where the school reneges on a payback deal. There are so many schools out there, so many that it is not worth to risk to accept a less than everything-included offer.

V. Questions from Stephanie Yoder of twenty-somethingtravel.com

My friend Stephanie Yoder runs a website for people in their twenties eager to travel, but unsure of how to go about it. She interviewed me about my experiences in South Korea, and I talked about some subjects I didn't get into in this FAQ. Check it out here.

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This is not intended to be a comprehensive FAQ, but I am expanding it, so feel free to check back once in a while. Before I went to Korea, I wanted as much information as possible, so I hope I can help you in a way that I wished to be helped!

Good luck!

Travelogue #17: A "Routine" Day in Bundang, South Korea

My Favorite Korean Memories:

Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea
Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"
Travelogue #33: A Spring Night in Hongdae
Travelogue #27: The Complete Story of How I Came to Korea
Travelogue #20: Misadventures in Seoul on New Year's Eve, Part 1
Travelogue #23: The Day I Introduced Korean Kids to Fruit Loops
Travelogue #18: Korean Snowball Fights on my 23rd Birthday
Travelogue #17: A "Routine" Day in Bundang, South Korea
Travelogue #16: Flirtation, Painful Massages, and Language Barriers in South Korea
Travelogue #15: Hello Korean Women's Tennis League. Can I Play?

<---Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues

--->I'm Moving to Korea for a Year (And So is This Blog) !

Welcome to Gorilla Teacher: Diaries of a Young American in South Korea!

2011-07-28T12:00:00.000+09:00

Teaching English and Living in Bundang (and Seoul), South Korea- Your FAQ Answered
How to Find a Summer Job Teaching in South Korea
Interview about Teaching in Korea with Stephanie Yoder of twenty-somethingtravel.com.

From October 2007 to October 2008 and June 2010 to August 2010, I taught English in and around Seoul, South Korea. During that time, I wrote more than fifty travelogue essays. If you've stumbled upon this site because you're interested in teaching English in Korea and want a come-with-me account of one young American's experience, then you've come to the right place. Alternatively, if you're a hungry reader looking for some unpretentious first-person travel writing, I hope you find in these travelogues something you care to read. (Start here or here.)

Thinking about coming to teach English in Korea? Check out this FAQ.

If you have any questions, comments, offers for lucrative publication, accusations, or veiled threats, please do email me at alexpollack at gmail.com

My Favorite Posts:

Travelogue #16: Flirtation, Painful Massages, and Language Barriers in South Korea
Travelogue #20: Misadventures in Seoul on New Year's Eve, Part 1
Travelogue #21: Misadventures in Seoul on New Year's Eve, Part 2
Travelogue #26: My Rocky Introduction to Korean Dating
Travelogue #29: How I Ended Up at a Police Station in Fukuoka, Japan at 3am...and Somehow Found My Way Home
Travelogue #33: A Spring Night in Hongdae
Travelogue #42: Your Teacher is a Gorilla.
Travelogue #47: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 1
Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

How to Find a Summer Job Teaching in South Korea

2010-07-18T11:48:00.006+09:00

Teaching English in Bundang (and Seoul), South Korea- Your FAQ Answered!

It is possible to find a summer job in Korea, but your search will require patience. Summer camps recruit teachers for the summer, as do SAT cram programs. Since money was my priority, I concentrated my search on SAT cram programs, which pay markedly better than summer camps. I was hunting for two to three months of work at 4.0 million won a month (equal to about $3300 U.S. in summer 2010), with airfare and apartment included.

In January 2010, I googled "summer teaching job Korea". What did I find? Not much. I found a few job postings dated 2008, and I found exactly one essay written about a summer teaching experience in Korea. I wrote the author of said essay and asked her how she locked down a temporary position. She replied with this:

"I taught for Elite Educational Institute. They did pay for my flight and housing for just the summer...They mostly hired year-long people but hired some extra help... I think there were 6-8 of us. However, be warned -- they only consider people from Ivy League and similar schools. It doesn't really matter how good of a teacher you are; they mostly care about how they can advertise you to parents. Lovely, right? Welcome to education in South Korea! =)

So, keep that in mind when you email... They'll also ask for a photo at some point in the interview process. They're looking for clean cut."

I found the Elite Academy website and emailed the branch in Bundang. Inquiring about summer positions, I attached my resume and my picture. I waited.

I got no reply.

Before I knew it, it was March 2010. Job postings began to appear on Daves ESL and, more helpfully, on the Facebook forum ESL Teachers in Korea. It was on Facebook where I found the following ad:

Elite Educational Institute is a nationally recognized academy that has been helping students achieve success since 1987. The Apgujung Elite branch in Korea is looking for enthusiastic university graduates to teach our 2010 summer SAT program. Many of the students who attend the boot camp attend international schools in Korea or attend schools in the states and are in Korea for the summer and are bright and motivated students. The academy is located in a prime location in central Seoul, Apgujung, only a few minutes away from Gangnam. This is the perfect opportunity to make money, interact with engaging students and faculty, and experience Korea and its rich culture!

Website: Eliteprep.com
Contract Period: 6/14/10 – 8/6/10
Requirements:
• BA/BS degree
• Native English speaker
• F4 or E2 visa
Experience: previous teaching experience preferred, but not required.
Location: Apgujeong, Seoul. Central Seoul (great location!)
Work Schedule: 120 hours
Pay: 3.0-4.0 million won + Overtime
Airfare: roundtrip airfare provided
Housing: provided
To apply, send an email with a copy of your resume, diploma, and a recent photo.

BAM! This was exactly what I was looking for! I emailed the ad poster, and he penciled me in for a phone interview two days later. A teacher at Elite, he was a Korean-American educated at an American university, and he sounded cool and businesslike over the phone. He asked me a few questions about my past experiences in Korea and with SAT instruction, and about how I handled problems in the classroom. The interview went well; he sent me a contract minutes later. After months of fruitless searches, I had a job!

Or did I?

For the next few weeks, I swapped emails with my soon-to-be supervisor. He asked me for a writing sample and he gave me initial directions on how to go about getting a short-term visa. In April, a month after I'd signed my contract, I received this email:

I sincerely apologize, but the Apgujung branch does not require as many teachers as originally expected. However, the Bundang and Mokdong branches do require teachers. I will forward your information to them and inform them that we already planned on hiring you as a teacher. The other aspects of the position are the same (housing, flight, etc.). Please email me if you have any questions and again, I apologize for the change.

Now I was nervous. My contract didn't feel so certain anymore. I'd been dealing with only one person throughout this process, and this person was no longer in the capacity to directly offer me a job. How could I be so sure that the other branch would contact me?

It was mid-April; summer was approaching. (As a back-up plan, I'd taken the exam for the U.S. Census 2010 job.) Korea was looking shaky, but I wasn't ready to give up the search. So I got creative, searching Craigslist, where I found an ad from New York City-based "Work Abroad with Korean-American Adventures" which offered a juicy recruitement deal: $4,500 per month for a summer of SAT teaching in Korea.

I sent in my cover letter and picture, and heard back quickly. Another interview, this time via Skype video, me on one side, blinking, and a curly-haired American in a hoody on the other side, live from his white-walled New York City apartment. I found it a little awkward, talking into my screen about my prior Korea experience, but I thought I was doing okay. "Alright, Alex," my interviewer said. "Would you mind teaching me a few SAT problems now?"

Huh? Now? I froze.

"Or I can give you a couple days to refresh your memory of the test and we can do it then."

Would it affect my chances for the job if I wanted extra time? I wasn't sure, but I opted to "teach" the SAT to my interviewer later.

Meanwhile, Elite Academy had officially withdrawn my contract: my initial go-to man notified me that neither the Bundang nor Mokdong branch needed new teachers after all.

Shit.

In between interviews with Korean-American Adventures, I skimmed Daves ESL Job Board and emailed my way towards talks with Princeton Review Korea and EPS Consulting Group. From EPS, I learned the monthly salary offered to their summer teachers was 3.0 million won a month and they offered neither housing nor airfare. The no-housing and no-airfare were deal-breakers. As for Princeton Review, I was scheduled for a 10pm American time interview with Wooyong Shim. He sounded professional in his email. When the agreed-upon time came, I waited by the phone.

Nothing. He didn't call.

"Are you in good health?" I wrote him, unsure if my snarky tone would translate to email. Even though he later wrote me to apologize for the miscommunication, I felt disrespected, a la Rodney Dangerfield. In addition, I'd read on the web that Princeton Review Korea had issues with trying to skirt away from promised salaries by offering bullshit "proctoring" hours to teachers at lower wages. When Wooyong Shim finally did call, I did not pick up the phone.

My second interview with Korean-American Adventures was a success overall, but it was a pressure cooker. I was given three SAT problems to play-act-teach over webcam, but I was not given the correct answers. I had no net. I struggled through the first one, saying, "And the answer is...can I get a time-out?" My interviewer did give me a time-out. As it turns out, I did know the right answer, but my uncertainty blurred my teaching ability. Luckily, he understood, and I made my way smoothly through the other questions.

Because KAA was a recruiting organization and not a school, I was not "hired." Instead, I was put on a roster of teachers. I was a free agent, waiting to be handpicked by a Korean school. If I were to create a video of myself teaching SAT, that would help my chances, or so I was told.

And so that's what I did.

Then I waited again.

On May 14th, finally, I was offered a job. Four days after that, a roundtrip airline ticket was purchased for me: to Korea June 7th, back to America August 14th. I'd done it. I'd landed a summer job in Korea. But it didn't happen through Korean-American Adventures. It happened through Elite Academy: a branch of the school in Yeonhui-dong. The Yeonhui-dong location had received my resume from my first supposed-to-be supervisor, the guy whom I talked to after I found that Facebook ad in March. I was signed up for two months at 4.0 million won a month, 160 working hours a month, apartment and airfare included.

Elite wasn't kidding about the 160 hours. I am working a lot this summer, and some of my classes are ACT and TOEFL, even though my contract specified only SAT. My apartment is tiny, but I have internet and a working air conditioner. The free time I have is relegated to the weekends. However, it's worth it: I sent a bunch of cash to my American bank account just last week.

In short, it can be done. You can find a job with benefits and work in South Korea for the summer. While it helps if you have prior experience, the biggest thing is persistence. Start your search in January, or March at the latest.

Good luck.

Teaching English in Bundang (and Seoul), South Korea- Your FAQ Answered!

A few of my favorite Korean memories:

Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"

Travelogue #33: A Spring Night in Hongdae

Travelogue #27: The Complete Story of How I Came to Korea

Travelogue #20: Misadventures in Seoul on New Year's Eve, Part 1

Travelogue #23: The Day I Introduced Korean Kids to Fruit Loops

Travelogue #18: Korean Snowball Fights on my 23rd Birthday

Travelogue #60: World Cup 2010 Insanity- Korea v. Uruguay

2010-07-02T22:39:00.004+09:00

<-----Travelogue #59: It's Not Surreal. It's Real.

Travelogue #59: It's Not Surreal. It's Real.

2010-06-27T19:36:00.032+09:00

<----Travelogue #58: South Korea, My Ex

---->Travelogue #60: World Cup 2010 Insanity- Korea v. Uruguay

Updated 7/18/10- Teaching English and Living in Bundang (and Seoul), South Korea- Your FAQ Answered!

I'm sitting on a concrete ledge outside Sunae Station near the red-white McDonalds sign.

Please excuse the graphic imagery, but a light breeze is tickling my leg hairs. I hear the chicka-chicka crunch of skates; a twelve-year-old boy is gliding by me into the marble gloss of the Lotte Department Store. Then: the I've-got-some-place-to-be clip-clop of high heels- a young woman in a blue blouse making her way up the subway steps. This is a summer afternoon in Bundang, South Korea. It's gray, and it's busy.

I smell something baked, maybe bread from the nearby Tous Les Jours, the do-we-sound-French? bakery that's in a years-running turf war against Paris Baguette for who can be the Frenchest-sounding bread shop in Korea. Or maybe I smell something fried, from one of the ubiquitious Korean fried chicken joints that will first satisfy you and then roil your stomach into a red-sauced glaze. Now, five schoolgirls in curtainty black bangs are passing by and singing, "Annyong, annyong" like a playground melody. They are arm-in-arm.

I wonder if it's going to rain.

An older woman is wearing a fisherman's cap and a flowerprint shirt, embroidered with light pinks and dark greens. Her pants are very white. I'm looking at her and she's looking at me. She is Korean; I am not. But both of us are here.

Ten minutes ago I was walking through my old apartment building. The last time I'd walked its hallways, it was 4am on a cool October morning almost two years ago. I never thought I'd be back, but there I was in the lobby, which looked exactly how I'd remembered, save for a new clock atop the elevators. I saw a shadow of my reflection in the gold doors. Did I look older? Did I feel different? Kind of, I thought. Kind of.

Fifth floor, I stepped out to see a familiar face. Someone I knew, or someone who knew someone I knew. I'd seen this guy in friend's Facebook pictures but I couldn't remember his name. He's teaching where I had once taught, living where I had once lived.

"Hey, do you work at Leadersville?" I asked, knowing the answer but making conversation anyway.

"Uh, yeah, used to," he said, confused in a do-I-know-you? way. "But today was my last day."

"Do you know Chris?"

"Yeah," he said. "He lives down the hall." The someone who knows someone I know still looked confused.

"Cool," I said.

And that was that.

I walked towards where I remembered the laundry room to be. For some reason, I wanted to see if it was still there.

It was.

Postscript: I haven't been updating this blog weekly as I intended. The reasons are several: one, my institute has me working like a madman. Two, many of my experiences so far have mirrored the ones I tracked on this blog two years ago. I want to be careful not to rehash stories I've already told. That being said, if you are reading this because you're curious about making the leap to teach in Korea, I do plan to update my FAQ for 2010.

Thanks for reading!

Alex

<----Travelogue #58: South Korea, My Ex

---->Travelogue #60: World Cup 2010 Insanity- Korea v. Uruguay

Travelogue #58: South Korea, My Ex

2010-06-05T21:08:00.003+09:00

<---Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues

---> Travelogue #59: It's Not Surreal. It's Real.

When I left her in October 2008, I didn't think I'd ever see her again. It felt like not only the end of a chapter, but the end of a book. Close her up. It's over. Done. But South Korea wasn't a set of pages to be turned; no, she was my one-time girlfriend turned ex. I knew it from the way I talked about her with strangers or with friends, the way I'd share my year of anecdotes through a nostalgic nod, as if to say, "The telling is a tease. If only, if only I could show you."

Dear reader. I can see you threatening to roll your eyes, or maybe you've already rolled them. You can accuse me of lapsing into melodrama, but let me explain: for three hundred and sixty-five days, she was with me. I'd hear the chime of her subways, I'd see the silver mist of her faraway mountains, I'd sound out the uh's and yo's of her words and, haltingly, speak the names of her foods. I'd eat her foods, so spicy they made me sweat and smile. My favorite: dak galbi, which Wikipedia salivatingly describes as, "stir-frying marinated diced chicken in a gochujang (chili pepper paste) based sauce, and sliced cabbage, sweet potato, scallions, onions and tteok (rice cake) together on a hot plate."

I'd even smell the kimchi in her trash cans: sour, but mine.

She was with me, my everyday reality. And then, like that, she was just a memory, captured in photographs and videos and blogs. And then, she was a story from a memory, repurposed and retold, a copy of a copy. Where'd she go? Pictures didn't do enough; neither did videos. Talking about her with friends who'd once lived her was close, but damn it, I missed her. Thinking I'd never see her again lent my nostalgia a special ache.

In February I found a Korean restaurant in Maitland, Florida called Seoul Garden. I ordered jayookdopbop (spicy pork and rice) and the Korean server, an older woman ajumma, nodded at me. Jayook was one of my favorite dishes in Korea, partly for its sweat-inducing spice, partly because it would fill me up for $3. I enjoyed the Maitland version; it singed my tongue. The taste was like a kiss I'd forgotten. Then the check came: $20. I wasn't in Korea anymore.

If you've ever read my blog, you know there were things I didn't love about Korea. A year was a long time to be away from my family and my country; in other words, don't count me as one of those Dude-America-sucks-I-don't-want-to-live-there dudes. America is my home. But this summer, from June 9th to August 14th, I'm going back to South Korea. I'll be living in Seoul, in the neighborhood of Yeonheedong, which is sandwiched between the neon-splashed districts of Hongdae and Sinchon. I'll be teaching SAT English, and hopefully, continuing to find cultural experiences to chronicle in this long-dormant travelogue. (I plan to update on the weekends.) My reasons for going to the wild, wild East have changed: In 2007, I went to work and write, yes, but I also went to run away from a lack of clearcut options in the U.S. This time, I'm heading to Korea to save money for my second year of the MFA program at the University of Central Florida. That's my practical meat-and-potatoes reason for going back.

But my romantic, rice-and-kimchi reason? Her, whom I leave with this: South Korea, I know it's been two years, but relax. Don't get creeped out by me. I'm going to hold your hand.

Annyong. (Hi.)

<---Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues

---> Travelogue #59: It's Not Surreal. It's Real.

Flash Fiction "Libertyland" in Hobart March '10 Issue!

2010-03-01T13:52:00.003+09:00

Hello earthlings,

Whether you're hunting for travelogues about Korea or Argentina, thanks for stopping by here. If you want a change of pace, do stop over at the online lit mag Hobart, where I got my short story "Libertyland" published for their March 2010 issue!

- Alex

Argentinalogue #5: Good-bye, Argentina

2010-01-14T23:43:00.002+09:00

Argentinalogue #5: Good-bye, Argentina at twenty-somethingtravel.com

Argentinalogue #4: 9 Things to Know Before You Visit Buenos Aires

2010-01-07T13:59:00.000+09:00

Argentinalogue #4: 9 Things to Know Before You Visit Buenos Aires at twenty-somethingtravel.com

Argentinalogue #3: Who’s Running Away?: A Buenos Aires Birthday

2009-12-31T20:02:00.000+09:00

Argentinalogue #3: Who’s Running Away?: A Buenos Aires Birthday at twenty-somethingtravel.com

Argentinalogue #2: Buenos Aires: Day One

2009-12-24T19:56:00.000+09:00

Argentinalogue #2: Buenos Aires: Day One at twenty-somethingtravel.com

Argentinalogue #1: Argentina, Te Quiero

2009-12-19T06:37:00.009+09:00

For the next several Thursdays, please tune in to twenty-somethingtravel.com, where I will be blogging about my month in Buenos Aires, Argentina!

Argentinalogue #1: Argentina, Te Quiero at twenty-somethingtravel.com

Read the Sunday June 7 Commercial Appeal!

2009-06-06T01:23:00.005+09:00

For any of you Memphians out there who read the Sunday Commercial Appeal, look for me! My Jackass Moment will be featured in that newspaper's My Words column space!

As for the Sunday Essays on this website, those are indefinitely on hiatus as I prep for the grind of graduate school. I'm throwing myself into some longer pieces, and I hope to share those in the future.

As always, thanks for reading!

-AP

Sunday Essay #7: Twitter Me This, Twitter Me That : Conversations with Talk Show Host Larry King

2009-05-24T00:00:00.011+09:00

<---Sunday Essay #6: My Jackass Moment

"Have you ever known anyone who was murdered?"

I stared into the oily hot lights. My mind blanked. My eyes watered. "Why are you asking me that question?"

"Very well," he bellowed, pivoting his chair away from mine. "Back with more after the break."

The red RECORD dot of the camera disappeared. We were off the air. "I'm confused," I told Larry, he of the ubiquitous glasses riding high on his pterodactyl nose. "Why am I even here?"

"You're been following me," he said simply, shuffling the stack of papers in front of him.

"Following you? Why? Why would I follow around a 75 year old talk show host?"

He set down the papers and chuckled, suspendered shoulders bobbing.

"I'm sorry." I peeled off the microphone clipped to my shirt collar. "This interview's over."

"Number 264,300."

"Huh?"

"You're on my list."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"On my list of followers," he said. "Please, put the microphone back on."

He was talking Twitter, the express short messaging service embraced by celebrities and common people alike, a place where a talk show host could ask his hundreds of thousands of followers, "what ever happened to galoshes?"

I was "following" Larry King on Twitter, and I had to pay.

The RECORD light flicked on. We were back. "On April 17th, you asked New Raleigh writer Acree Graham if you were, and I'm quoting, 'selling out the future of the written word by Twittering.'"

"I did say that."

Larry nodded. He wanted more, so I gave it to him.

"I was skeptical," I said, "Twitter seemed like the ultimate language killer. Nonsense, really. Like the Internet doesn't have enough crap?"

"On April 21st, you tweeted basketball star Shaquille O'Neal?"

Damn, the lights were hot. "I don't recall, Larry."

"You don't recall?"

"Maybe...probably," I said. "Yeah."

"What did you ask him?"

I looked down at my hands. I was rubbing them together, hard. It was almost as if they were a separate entity, disconnected from all bodily thought. "I asked Shaq, 'What's in your iPod these days big man?'"

"Does that fit under your definition of nonsense, Alex?"

"I don't know! It seemed like a smart thing to ask at the time!"

Like a psychiatrist Larry deftly slid his thumb under his chin. "Did you learn to love Twitter?"

"No, that's too much," I said, recovering. "It can be entertaining, that's all. I'm not some holier-than-thou Maureen Dowd who dismisses it completely."

"What do you like about it?"

"Comedians. Paul Scheer tweeted, 'Just found out Dr. Dre isn't a real doctor, now I understand why he botched my hernia operation.' I laughed, Larry. I laughed."

"Why do some baseball players wear the brims of their hats flat?" he asked without missing a beat.

"You asked that from your Twitter, right?"

"What's the difference between a frankfurter and a hot dog?"

"I don't know, Larry."

"My sons will be bat boys at tonight's UCLA baseball game -- I am not sure who's more excited, them or me!"

"Do you want me to respond to that, or - "

"Have you ever known anyone who was murdered?"

"I think you tweet from the dark side."

I waited for Larry to laugh but he didn't. He stared at me, waiting for an answer. "I didn't murder anybody," I said, the words sounding, oddly, like a murder's on my tongue, "but I do know you spoiled the finale of The Celebrity Apprentice for me. You congratulated Joan Rivers before I watched the episode!"

For some reason, that snapped Larry out of it. "As an admitted user of the service, do you think this Twitter phenomenon will last?"

I shook off the verbal whiplash. "It might not. I read an article in AdWeek that said, 'about 60 percent of people on Twitter end up abandoning the service after a month.' That's a bad retention rate. People apparently don't stay. The other night, I was listening to Loveline with Adam Carolla and Dr. Drew -"

"Dr. Drew tweets."

"I know, and that sentence sounds filthy, but they were discussing our society's obsession with pushing the boundaries of what's extreme and what's immediate, whether it be energy drinks, sexual practices, or satellite television. They were suggesting that perhaps there will come a day when we can no longer go any faster or get any more now, and that the scales will tip towards delayed gratification. Longer will be cooler, if that makes any sense."

"A return to the days of hand-writing letters with quill pens?" Larry asked.

"Who knows? The point is, I don't know if Twitter will be around forever, but in the meantime I'll check it out now and again. I get a kick out of comedians and other smart folks who wring a visceral reaction from limited words. I mean, it's no replacement for any real communication; by comparison, it makes Facebook look bed-sharingly intimate. But Twitter can be a supplement, and as long as it makes me laugh, it's not the worst way to burn a minute or two."

Larry turned to the camera. "If you want it to rain, wash your car! I guarantee it will rain... happens to me everytime!"

"Thanks, Larry. Thank you very much."

Related posts:
Breaking Up With Facebook for a Week, Part I
Breaking Up With Facebook for a Week, Part 2
Breaking Up With Facebook for a Week, Part 3

<---Sunday Essay #6: My Jackass Moment

Sunday Essay #6: My Jackass Moment

2009-05-17T00:00:00.006+09:00

<---Sunday Essay #5: The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!

--->Sunday Essay #7: Twitter Me This, Twitter Me That : Conversations with Talk Show Host Larry King

Note: This article was published in the June 7th edition of The Commercial Appeal.

Last Sunday I almost burned my face off.

I can still feel the tension of the wire bending against the clomp of my scissors, the SNAP and SIZZLE like a firecracker splitting, me yelping "Oh!" like a grandma with a mouse in her pantyhose, and smoke: waxy, electric, hanging like a cloud in the den. Smoke.

Thinking I had unplugged the broken DVD player, I'd picked and jogged its rear cord through a mystical jumble of wires. The quickest way to clear the mess would be to chop the leash off the machine. After all, it had been squatting unused in a dusty bin for eight years. What could go wrong?

This: the TV gone black, the cable box too, a near fire, and me inches away from winning a Darwin Award, a monument to, "improving the human genome by honoring those who accidentally remove themselves from it."

I've always thought myself a cautious guy. One of the first words I learned was "hot," which I'd say when I was eighteen months old, pointing my little finger at the oven. "Hot," I'd state with the firm eloquence of a junior fire marshall, keeping a good two feet away from the oven and stove. When I got older I didn't climb limp-limbed trees or bike down 90-degree hills. My parents raised me for a life devoid of jackass moments. I didn't do dangerous things, but there were cracks in my armor.

On a dare from a friend with a mustache (we were ten), I ran across the green tarp of a swimming pool covered for the winter. The tarp slackened under my weight as I padded across it, a blur in black mesh Bulls shorts and Penny Hardaway sneakers. I was cool, hazardously cool. "Are you stupid?" my seventeen-year old sister asked. She approached the fence with a look somewhere between befuddled and dissapointed. That was the last time I ever raced across a covered pool.

The MTV show Jackass premiered in 2000, inspiring a whole generation of teenagers to stick worms into their nostrils and smear themselves in refried beans. I was not one of these teenagers; I had no desire to watch a grown man taser his testicles. Little did I know, I would create my own Jackass episode in my living room years later. All that was missing was a camera and me cocking my eye brow with a squirmy arrogance to say, "Watch this!"

FIRE!

The Burned Scissors Incident of 09' falls in between chapters of my life: college is done, Korea is over, and grad school doesn't start until August. One of my high school buddies, now a Ph.D student at an Ivy League university, was in a similar what-the-hell-am-I-doing-now stage last year: "I'm listening to Rhianna's 'Umbrella' and inputting stock at Book Traders," he said, "my life is great." Did the most memorable moment of my week really involve scissors and electricity? Is that how I'm taking my lessons until I move on? Well, yeah. I did learn something: if you turn off your brain and sleepwalk towards the Next Big Thing, you just might grow into a Jackass.

By the way, my grandfather is an electrician.

<---Sunday Essay #5: The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!
--->Sunday Essay #7: Twitter Me This, Twitter Me That : Conversations with Talk Show Host Larry King

Sunday Essay #5: The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!

2009-05-10T02:25:00.001+09:00

<---Sunday Essay #4: Cracking Open the Mailbag
--->Sunday Essay #6: My Jackass Moment

Vladimir splashes a shot of vodka into one glass and a shot of vodka into another. Both drinks are for him. His black hair, sweaty and flatly curly, halfway between John C. Reilly and a mullet, crowns a cherry tomato face with still beads for eyes. "I have genius idea," he warbles, "you will write it and I will correct it and we will receive Pulitzer." I expect him to smile but he doesn't. "Do you want to receive Pulitzer, Alex?"

I'm at my Uncle Jacob's 70th birthday bash and I'm surrounded by Russians. This is no Bolshevik Revolution; this is a family celebration, a kind of gathering to which I've grown accustomed over twenty-four years. When I was little, I sneered at the plates of toast slathered in butter and red caviar. Russian food was gross, I thought. Who'd want to touch a beet salad when you could eat bologna on Wonder Bread? But that was the point of view of my six-year-old self, a skinny kid who read Bernstein Bears and snapped legs off Ninja Turtle action figures. Now I'm a graduate student in my mid-twenties. I've lived overseas and fattened my belly with live squid and raw cow liver. No longer do I find Russian food gross. Now, I find Russian food weird-looking.

At least I don't play with Ninja Turtles anymore.

Vladimir's Pulitzer question hangs in the air, unanswered. Meanwhile, I watch the toastmaster as he rises from his chair to entertain fifty guests with fifty opinions. Who is this master of ceremonies? He's the guy with a gray tangle of chest hair bristling apologetically from an underbuttoned silk shirt. His smile a you-think-I'm-funny-like-a-clown warning, his silver-spiked hair a certificate of a thousand past toasts at a thousand past weddings, he's Andre the Giant-tall and he has brass rings on his knuckles. He's no DiMaggio, but I bet he's swung a baseball bat. Paging Marty Scorsese, here's your lead for Goodfellas 2. "My Russian is not so good, so I will give toast in English," he jokes, before launching into a hearty Russian-tongued introduction.

My understanding of the Russian language is either laughably bad or surprisingly good, depending on your expectations. When I assure people that my vocabulary can't outwit a Moscow toddler's, I shock them with a casual, "Knee mah goo jaw vul lutz uh" or "I can't complain." For that reason, my Aunt Inna has enlisted my help to translate tonight's toasts for the American couple sitting across me: Mr. Weiss, a friendly but finicky-eyed gentleman, and his wife Ms. Weiss, a heavyset brown-eyed women with a metaphorical leash tapering her husband's ankles. "You lived in Atlanta?" Mr. Weiss asks me, his left eye blinking quickly, a tic. "Have you ever eaten a hamburger at The Varsity?"

"Shh!" hushes Ms. Weiss. "Listen to the toasts!"

I smile at Mr. Weiss, who rolls his eyes as if his wife were his drill sergeant mama.

As for the toasts, I completely understand maybe one of every seven beats, just enough to use creative liberties: "Family is important," I say, underlining fragments of my uncle's sister's words to Ms. Weiss, "Happiness...Jacob's wife...very good...can't want anything more...very good," I say. Lina and Katya giggle at my stuttering performance. They're recent high school graduates, teenage twins who I remember still as little girls in t-shirts stretched to their toes, spinning around in circles at the Cherry Rd. apartments thirteen years ago. We've spent a good chuck of the night talking about college, and then my childhood best friend, whose parents hit it big with a chain of popular liquor stores and subsequently moved into a house with a widely ballyhooed golden toilet. Vladimir bothers the girls with pointed questions about their majors, questions they answer with respectful smiles and I-dunnos. He then turns to me: "You want to be like Coen Brothers?"

"The Coen Brothers are great," I say.

"Academy authority say they are good," he says with a wave of the hand, "but that movie No Man, No Place For No Man, boring. Slow."

"I liked No Country for Old Men," I say.

He waves his hand again. "Do you want to hear my genius idea, Alex?"

I'm distracted by my cousin's three-year-old son, unfazed by the scratch on his nose, marching with a staff through the den as if he's a baby Moses. I offer him a high-five, which he delivers crisply. I offer him another one, but this time, I pull my hand away at the last second. Spooked, he looks at me. "Okay," he says, turning away and walking off. Sorry, baby Moses!

I don't always have a good time at these Russian-heavy functions, but tonight is an exception. "Law school, Alex, go to law school, Alex," my Uncle Jacob says. He is not my biological uncle, but he fills the role with back-slapping advice-giving warmth. His son Eugene, a product manufacturer lawyer, intervenes with commaless precision: "Don't go to law school don't go to law school don't go to law school." He summarizes his father's words with a classic one-liner from The Graduate: "I want to say one word to you. Just one word....Plastics."

After a few more drinks, Vladimir finally offers me up his genius idea; unfortunately, I don't really understand it. It involves an old woman, cancer, an affair, and some lugubrious twist muddled by whiskey. I lose interest. He wags his finger at me and says, "If you don't like it, you can be small teacher at Florida school!" In no uncertain terms, Vladimir is telling me to forget about the Pulitzer. Oh well.

There's always plastics.

<---Sunday Essay #4: Cracking Open the Mailbag
--->Sunday Essay #6: My Jackass Moment

Sunday Essay #4: Cracking Open the Mailbag

2009-05-03T00:00:00.004+09:00

<---Sunday Essay #3: Who Wants to Be a Speed Dating Veteran?
--->Sunday Essay #5: The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!

"You seem to have a tendency of stalking people," he wrote anonymously.

The pronouncement was a fortune cookie from hell, made by an online stranger in the comments section of my essay The Sammy Mystery. I had written about a friend of mine, an Ethiopian Jew who'd mysteriously entered my life years ago only to vanish without a trace. I'm not sure what in the piece implied that I had stalkerish tendencies: was it because I mentioned emailing the Israeli absorption embassy to search for my friend? Could the anonymous commenter be *gasp* Sammy himself?

Though my plot-twist-hungry mind wants that to be the case, the guilty party is more likely someone who googled "Ethiopian Jew," found my essay, and decided that I was a moonbat who stalked people.

Since June 2007, I've posted 114 blog entries. (WHAT YOU WANT, A COOKIE?) Most of the correspondance I've recieved has been flattering, even generous. But what I want to address today are the times I rubbed readers the wrong way.

Let's crack open the mailbag!

On Small Talks and Rent-a-Cops 7/12/2007
Laney Shin wrote..."I got the feeling of a slight superiority complex on your part; no offense but maybe that's what you were going for." (comment via facebook)

This comment came on the heels of a lightly comedic observational piece I'd written about a security guard with a colorful personality. Thinking I had been too tough on the guy, I issued a mea culpa a few weeks later. Was that necessary? If you're curious, you can read the original article and decide for yourself.

What interests me more is Laney Shin's classic use of the "no offense" card. Has anyone in the history of mankind used "no offense" as preamble for something positive: No offense, but your risotto tastes like the flesh of a fallen angel! Does that ever happen? Probably not. Instead we get, "No offense, but I will now try to passive-aggressively offend you!"

On When A Neighbor's Dog Craps in Your Yard... 7/26/2007
Jeff wrote..."rather than the passive aggressive approach, how about being more direct and just saying, 'would you like a bag to clean that up?'. they won't do it again, and they'll respect you for it, instead of hating you forever for being angry at them."

Jeff does not approve of the way I stared down a neighbor whose dog polluted my parents' lawn. What starts off as a condescending reproach ("rather than the passive aggressive approach, how about being more direct") ends with a verbal sledgehammer ("hating you forever"). So, I write a tongue-in-cheek essay about guilt trips and the only feedback I receive burns with words like "hating" and "forever"? Really? I guess that's what happens when you pimp your blog on the gently Democratic Republic of Craigslist.

On Teaching English in Bundang, South Korea - Your FAQ Answered! 1/29/2009
Anonymous wrote..."Ha. You were my neighbor [in Korea]...weren't too friendly either. I hope you improve on that."

Who is this person? My spidey sense tingles Canadian, Canadian, Canadian. I'm picturing a maple leaf backpack and an aura of don't-you-dare-mistake-me-for-a-U.S.-American defensiveness. I might have launched a continent-shaking fart when I shared an elevator with this individual, but I don't think I did that. Maybe I should have.

On Sunday Essay #1: Party Like a Writer! Party Like a Writer? 4/12/2009
Anonymous wrote..."I remember that party. You were the quiet guy in the Cosby sweater with snowflakes on it. I'm not sure what that means."

That sweater was a GIFT!

If you're using Cosby as a pejorative, know that I bow at the altar of Jell-O Bill. Plus, those aren't snowflakes; they're carefully-woven Eddie Bauer stiches. Though my Facebook rankings tell me otherwise, my fashion sense needs no improvement, thank you.

While my dream is to make a living writing about my life and the lives of others, do I turn strangely defensive when someone writes about me? Well, it does feel a bit weird and a bit icky to be at the mercy of another person's pen. That might make me a hypocrite, but I think that's just part and parcel of the writing game. We're all characters in somebody else's story.

Until next time, this is the mailbag. Remember to drive safely and drink your milk, or I will hate you forever.

<---Sunday Essay #3: Who Wants to Be a Speed Dating Veteran?

--->Sunday Essay #5: The Russians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming!

Sunday Essay #3: Who Wants to Be a Speed Dating Veteran?

2009-04-26T14:40:00.003+09:00

<---Sunday Essay #2: How I Got Fired From Kumon Math and Reading Center
--->Sunday Essay #4: Cracking Open the Mailbag

This is a stakeout.

It's the dead zone of a Saturday afternoon- the sky a gray curtain and choppy winds rippling its threads. In the parking lot of a Dan McGuiness Irish Pub, a 97' Toyota Camry crouches uninspired. Through its pollen-splotched windshield I spy a cute girl on her way to the bar or no, not really, oops, she's probably 57 years old.

It's 5:10pm. I tap my index finger against the steering wheel. Fifteen minutes ago I walked into the cavernous hole that is Dan McGuiness, with tvs bleating professional golf and video slot machines frowning neon. At beer-slickened tables, former frat brothers with distended bellies under Polo shirts commiserated with thirtysomething yellow-haired woman in UMemphis hoodies. Their conversation was couched in the easy Saturday familiarity of friends rather than the awkward energy of strangers. I saw no one wearing a name tag.

Why was I hunting for people wearing name tags?

"Meet Fun Dates is the fun and convenient way to meet single professionals... At these events, you will get the opportunity to meet up to 10 exciting professionals in a single evening."

In other words, Dan McGuiness was hosting a Meet Fun Dates speed dating party, and I had paid a $20 reservation fee to dip my feet into the pool. My friends raised eye brows at my mission, but to them I wore a shield of I'll-show-you defiance: I will go speed dating, I will have fun, and I will tell you all about it!

Or not, which brings us back to the statekout. Having spotted not one person of interest at the bar, I have retreated to my car to wait for a sign, any sign, of action by the entrance. I call my sister and ask her if she has any tips. "Wait, Alex, so you're just sitting in a parking lot?" Um, yeah. "That's kind of creepy." Fair point, Anna. My dad's advice? "Go inside and order a margarita." Margarita? Why a margarita in an Irish bar? Who am I, Cormac Gonzales?

Still, I'll kick myself if I don't check out the scene once more. Cell phone to my ear, I ask my imaginary cell-phone-friend "How's it going, dude?" as I walk through the side door. Look at me. I'm Casual Joe. Am I half-loitering half-scoping-out-a-speed-dating-event? No way. I'm chillin'. To quote Outkast, "I'm cooler than a polar bear's toenails."

And then I spot them: name tags. But they're not stickered on the dresses of ten sexy women; they're pasted on the shirts of two sleepy-eyed dudes drinking beers in a we-waitin'-for-somethin'-that-ain't-comin' manner. I see a portly woman in floral print, the Meet Fun Dates organizer, hovering about these guys as if to say hey, sorry about the turn-out, but have you ever considered dating each other?

I see not one single woman. Not one. It's 5:30pm.

I'm out of here.

Confession: this is not the first time I've tried speed dating. Three years ago I participated in a Jewish speed dating powwow in Atlanta, where I talked Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with a bosomy redhead whose bosoms I tried, hopelessly, to ignore. Awesome. Maybe it was foolish of me to attempt a comeback, or maybe Meet Fun Dates just plan sucks. Either way I'm not crying. If you take chances in life, even small ones, you're bound to feel like a superstar or a schmuck. I came, I saw, I didn't conquer, but I don't regret going to Dan McGuiness Pub on that blustery Saturday afternoon. I don't regret it at all.

Vive Margarita.

<---Sunday Essay #2: How I Got Fired From Kumon Math and Reading Center
--->Sunday Essay #4: Cracking Open the Mailbag

Sunday Essay #2: How I Got Fired From Kumon Math and Reading Center

2009-04-19T00:00:00.004+09:00

<---Sunday Essay #1: Party Like a Writer! Party Like a Writer?
--->Sunday Essay #3: Who Wants to Be a Speed Dating Veteran?

"Did you get any sleep last night?" my boss asked with a prickle in her voice.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, fumbling with my timecard. It was 9:43 on a Saturday morning. At 9:30AM, I had woken up with an oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit! realization rousing me from a deep slumber. Thirteen minutes later, unshaven, morning-breathed, and sloppy-sweatshirted, I had stumbled into work. Thirteen minutes late. Could have been worse, right?

"Sorry," I repeated, but she didn't say a thing. She was hyper alert and well-dressed, as usual, in a black blazer and a baby blue button-down shirt, the colors popping brightly against her moisturized brown skin. The epitome of the woman in the workplace, her smile exuded a careful, temporary warmth that said I-am-your-boss-not-your-mama. I was intimidated by her when I was on time, but when I was late...

Did you get any sleep last night? What was she thinking? That I had been on a bender in an illicit massage parlor, downing shots of tequila and pull-snapping strippers' g-strings from sundown to sunrise? The reality was far more damning: I had spent the evening watching Dateline NBC with my mom. I was in bed by midnight.

To quote Sports Guy Bill Simmons, I will now light myself on fire.

After I clocked in, I turned away from my boss and trooped on to my "desk," an Office Depot cardtable bedecked by a plastic chair, a rolodex of answer books, and a cradle of red pens low on ink. I sat surrounded by a batallion of fourth through ninth graders armed with pencils scribbling through thick piles of math and reading worksheets. Most of these students were Indian or black, but one kid looked like a miniature Conan O'Brien, all freckles and a blaze of orange hair. His name was Tariq (?) and judging by the two women who picked him up each day, I suspected that he had two mommies. Otherwise, he was just like the rest of his worksheeting comrades: he'd finish a pile of problems, turn them into me, and wait for his score while I flipped through answer books. He'd correct the ones he got wrong, turn them in again, and wait for his new grade. This process would repeat itself until he answered all the questions correctly.

I was the grader. That was my job. Few students knew my name, and even fewer treated me as anything more than a robot with a red pen. They knew I had the answer books, so the questions they posed were meant to elicit an A, B, C, or D and nothing more. What was their rush? Did they realize: there's always another worksheet. There's always another worksheet. They wrote and bubbled and circled with the on-and-on momentum of Bangladeshi kids stitching decals into soccer balls.

Welcome to Kumon Math and Reading Center, where fun comes to die.

How I got the job was an accident, a happy accident, I thought. It was Christmas Day, and my parents and I were in line at the movie theater when we happened upon a girl I knew from my high school days. Anu Parikh was now an attractive young woman - an academic superstar, an Ivy League senior with one sister at Harvard and the other a soon-to-be valedictorian. Her dad was an accomplished but unpretentious businessman, and her mom, well, her mom was the queen bee at two Kumon Math and Reading Centers. While I flirted cautiously with Anu, the rest of the Parikh family circled the ticket counter. My mom sprang into action, articulating my credentials to my future boss and doing everything short of negotiating a contract.

I was reluctant to push the issue. Getting a job in Memphis would mean staying put at home, at least for the next eight months. (Grad school was on the horizon, but by no means a certainty.) I harbored thoughts of trying life in Atlanta, but I had no clear prospects there. What I did have was teaching experience and a desire to make immediate coin. My mom was Jerry Maguire, and Anu's mom was showing me the money... at eight dollars an hour.

"How do I do this?" asked a ten-year-old Indian boy in college professor spectacles. He pointed to a math problem:

3 (x + 9) / 12 (y -4)= 42

that to my eyes looked more like:

3(x+9)nachosnachosIWANTNACHOS

"Well, did you try process of elimination?" I asked, buying time.

"Why's that important in this problem?"

Um. Uh. I studied the numbers, but they blurred into each other like The Matrix. "Look at it a little more closely," I said.

"Oh, I got it."

Whew. Close one.

Every grader at Kumon was responsible for scoring both reading and math, but when I was called upon to answer a question about an advanced equation, I felt like I was wearing a stranger's slippers. My enduring memory of math class in high school was not nailing the Pythagorean Theorem; it was Charity Rogers, who sang Nelly's "Hot in Herr'e" every time somebody would ask Mr. Stalls to turn on the air conditioner. I wasn't bad at math, but I didn't have the swagger to teach it.

When Ms. Parikh stripped me of my math duties, I was relieved...until I realized that I had become half an employee. After all, I wasn't working for the Kumon Reading Center; I was working for the Kumon Math and Reading Center. I was a pilot who could fly but couldn't land. A sprinkling of reading worksheets would engage my red pen, while an avalanche of math would be sent to my colleague, 14-year-old middle schooler Vijay Nunley. Vijay outworked and outhustled me, and he didn't even shave.

"You can go now, Alex," my boss told me on one particularly slow day. "Don't forget to clock out."

IN: 4:30PM
OUT: 4:31pm

Thirteen cents. I made thirteen cents that Wednesday. Not bad...if only I was Alfalfa selling lemonade in 1932.

By the end of February I had worked at the center for two months. I had been late, sent home early, and corrected on my grading. ("I don't see what's wrong," I'd said. Ms. Parikh pointed to the end of the student's sentence. Shit. No period, and I hadn't caught the mistake.)

"Everybody, please listen," my boss announced. "Salim Bandiopatay has just completed Level H, and he is only a fifth grader!"

We were supposed to applaud. Perhaps thimble-sized Salim was dunked into toilet water during school hours, but this was no time to speculate on his nerddom. This was his moment, his hour. I tepidly smacked my hands together, as if I had just joined a cult by accident. Level H? Was that a Scientology workshop?

Ms. Parikh fired me on a Saturday. The whole episode was politely anticlimactic: she blamed the economy, but the economy didn't axe Vijay Nunley. It axed me.

Though I'm gone, I still wish good luck to Salim. Get ready for Level I, man, where shit really goes bananas.

We talkin' bout' FRACTIONS!

<---Sunday Essay #1: Party Like a Writer! Party Like a Writer?

--->Sunday Essay #3: Who Wants to Be a Speed Dating Veteran?

Sunday Essay #1: Party Like a Writer! Party Like a Writer?

2009-04-12T00:05:00.002+09:00

<---Please allow me to re-introduce myself...
--->Sunday Essay #2: How I Got Fired From Kumon Math and Reading Center

The man with the long ponytail is wearing white gloves. Thriller-era Michael Jackson white gloves.

Creeping behind a platter of carrots and ranch dressing, I watch this man with incredulity and suspicion. I imagine him an hour ago in his bedroom, surveying his ironed black pants draped on a hanger and his dress shirt strewn on a stool. He's thinking: I'm going to a literary party populated by grad school literati. There will be readings of poetry (delicate, hushed) and readings of prose (dry, ironic). There will be white wine in plastic cups. I'll put on a vest, but will that be enough?

Billie Jean is not my lover.

Gloves. Gloves. Gloves!

It's a Friday night and I'm wandering solo through the cozily-lit basement of the Woodruff-Fontaine House in downtown Memphis. I've come here for the release party of the University of Memphis literary journal, The Pinch. Since I'll be starting an MFA (Masters of Fine Art) program in the fall, I'm looking for a little taste of the MFA lifestyle: will I be an outsider, or will I be one of them?

My carefully crafted stereotype colors them as lovers of Ira Glass, the BBC, Vietnamese restaurants, and Elizabeth Alexander's inaugural poem. I thought Alexander's poem was plodding and pretentious and emblematic of why most folks stop reading poetry after eleventh grade. Rather than listen to Ira Glass, I download Adam Carolla podcasts. And the kicker: I didn't even vote for Barack Obama.

How will I fit in with them?

Fifteen minutes before the first reading, I lock eyes with an older gentleman whose owl-frame glasses belie a prominent forehead. "Dr. Shaheen," he says. "Alex," I say. He leans into me, as if to sharpen the shaky antenna in his right ear. "Nice to meet you, Alec."

I don't want to correct him, because he mangles my name with the careful precision of a Romanian gymnast sticking a landing.

"Do you use the Google?" Dr. Shaheen asks, his weathered voice bopping gleefully against the vowels. If I do a search on him, I'll find that he is the world's foremost scholar in Shakespearean biblical references. Shaheen's a brilliant guy, and here he is, rapping about the publishing history of his books with me, a young Joe Schmoe who finished undergrad two years ago. Am I now an official citizen of Academia? "Take care, Alec."

Not quite.

"So Dr. Shaheen got you all to himself?" asks a lanky redheaded woman in a black dress. With intense silver-gray eyes, she looks at me over her shoulder.

"Shaheen's an interesting guy," I say.

"HA HA HA HA," she booms, "HA HA HA HA." Her laughter herky-jerks my insides, gnarling them into a tiny ball of help!

I thread myself back through the slowly building crowd, where the dominant color of clothing is black and the dominant disposition bemused - authors referenced are obscure but smiles are knowing. The man with the white gloves is suddenly gloveless. Did the temptation of chips and salsa convince him to peel off his fingerpants? Perhaps not, for he quickly rolls his gloves back on. He is the Count Chocula of the literary party scene.

Eight minutes before the first reading, I find myself talking to a woman whose librarian glasses dangle on the precipice of her nose, making it appear as if she's looking down at me or at the world. "It's romantic writers mostly," she states cheerlessly, "one's published about sixty books." She's telling me about a writing group she joined, but I'm distracted by the tissues lying like upturned blossoms at the open rim of her bulky purse. She dabs one of these things against her nostrils. "I should leave now," she says, "my bipolar is acting up." Her bipolar is acting up? "I hear you," I say inexplicably.

So far, I've chatted with a Shakespearean expert hard of hearing and a bipolar woman who crashed the party for free wine. I haven't talked to any current MFA students; that is, until I cross paths again with the redhead. Linda. Linda reaches out to me, sharing her experiences at the Memphis writing program and introducing me to a few of her MFA friends. She gives my face a name, saving me from the fate of being the stranger who hovers silently by the salsa. Her roommate, black-haired and earnest, engages me in a ping-pong match of literary reference. I swing and hit Michael Chabon, but she easily volleys that name back. She mentions Lee Gutkind and I blink a response, my eyes scrawled with huh. "You don't know Lee Gutkind?" she asks, her shock at my ignorance tempered but palpable. "He's the editor of Creative Nonfiction."

Oops. Creative Nonfiction is the big-name journal for writers of, well, creative nonfiction, the genre in which I will specialize come the fall. I guess I have a lot to learn before my next ping-pong match.

The readings go about as well as I expect: some touch me with the raw nerve endings of written language suddenly, arrestingly spoken, while others drift over my head like errant balloons. The mood matches that of a sanctuary: I am one of the congregants in the pews, and the authors are the priests, taking turns on the podium. In between the readings, they politely joke, and we politely laugh.

Linda invites me to join a few of the MFA students for drinks after the reading. Talk is spirited and dynamic and not just about literature; I tell them about my time in Korea, and they tell me about a certain Memphis writing professor's antisocial tendencies. I'm reminded of my thesis advisor at Emory, who once told me that few of his friends were fellow writers. Why was that the case? "Come on," he had said with a chuckle, "we're the most neurotic, most self-absorbed people you'll meet. We don't like having writer friends."

Though I'm enjoying this whole MFA meet-and-greet, I still find myself crawling up into my own head. Do I agree with my professor, that writers don't much want writer friends? I can't answer that question. Not yet anyway. I know I should stay open-minded. I know I shouldn't prejudge these people on their voices or their laughter.

But really, what is the deal with that guy in the white gloves?

<---Please allow me to re-introduce myself...
--->Sunday Essay #2: How I Got Fired From Kumon Math and Reading Center

Please allow me to re-introduce myself...

2009-04-05T13:48:00.002+09:00

--->Sunday Essay #1: Party Like a Writer! Party Like a Writer?

I've been a lazy son of a bitch.

Since November I've updated my Teaching English in Bundang FAQ and I haven't updated much else. With this blog I've been jogging. In place. And that kills me.

It's been more than five months since oh my God Alex we get it you spent time in Korea you think that makes you Magellan because you ate some fucking kimchi? Get over it. Move on. Live life. Live now.

You can chalk up the inactivity on this thing to unearned self-importance: I like the beginning-and-end conceit of my Korea writings. I find comfort in the finished nature of them: one year, fifty-five travelogues, and done. Over. Box them up and put a bow on them. I can't count how many projects I've started and never completed, germs of ideas that leapt onto the page only to die later from unruly ambition or plain immaturity. In Korea I had a plan and stuck to it: a new essay every week (almost).

What will I write about now? I'm not quite sure, but I do hope you'll check in on Sundays, when I intend to have something new cooked up each week. At times I might write about Korea, but I won't let those stories reek of stale bulgogi. I'm no longer an on-the-ground foreigner, so I won't have the same point of view.

In the fall, I start an MFA program in creative nonfiction. I'm excited, and I'm a little bit scared. I'll be investing two or three years... in ink.

It's time to get warmed up.

--->Sunday Essay #1: Party Like a Writer! Party Like a Writer?

Vote for Me.......OR ELSE!

2009-02-21T12:48:00.000+09:00

2-21-09- Voting is now over. With your support, Writing The Ship made the top ten blogs! The winner of the competition will be announced on April 3rd.

Thank you for your support!
--------------------------

Dear friends/readers/readers-who-I-

hope-one-day-will-be-friends,

I am not writing you today to sell you a Sham-Wow; I'm writing because, hopefully, you've found something you've enjoyed in the past year on Writing The Ship: Travelogue Diaries of An English Teacher in Korea. For those of you I haven't spoken/written to recently, I returned to America in October, and since then I've applied to grad school and bought a used car. (If you see a 1997 Toyota Camry on the road, watch out, friend-o.) I'm still writing, though I have not yet decided in which direction my blog will go in the future.

Speaking of this ole' thing, it's currently in a competition (yep, apparently such a thing exists!) on www.blog4reel.com. I would like to humbly ask for your vote - the winner of the competition gets a crack at having his or her blog made into a movie! It might be a longshot (hell, it IS a longshot), but I'd greatly appreciate your support to barack the vote in my favor. (Sorry. That was shameless.) (Also: I asked something similar back in July 2008, but now it's the semifinals!)

After registering first at blog4reel.com, the voting site is http://blog4reel.com/b4rvote.asp?id=52 I'm sorry for the little registration huballoo. I hope it won't put you off too much; if it does, let me know in as vulgar of language as you'd like.

Much thanks and best wishes, and if you tell your friends, I'll get you a part in the movie! *

*offer not legally binding

Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues

2008-10-29T22:01:00.006+09:00

<---Travelogue #56: The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Part I

--->Travelogue #58: South Korea, My Ex

"Oh my God," my sister Anna said, her eyes hidden orbs behind windshield-sized sunglasses. We were wandering through an outdoor shopping mall on a crisp, cool October afternoon in suburban Memphis. My smiling parents walked a step or two in front of us. For the first time in over a year, my family was together.

Before my sister had name-checked God, I had made a random comment about how something or other reminded me of...well... "You are that guy," my sister continued, "you're that 'Everything I do reminds me of Korea' guy."

I didn't want to be a that guy. Nobody wants to be a that guy under any circumstance. I wanted to shake my head and protest, but my sister had a point. I had been on American soil for no more than three days, and that's counting the first day which included a jet-lagged hibernation in my bedroom followed by a hazily surreal dinner at Chili's. I was back. But was I really, fully back? Or was I caught in a bad SNL skit, starting every sentence with, "In Korea..."

Later, on a bench in front of Sephora, I saw two Asian women. Like a private eye I pretended not to spy on their conversation while, yes, spying on their conversation, hearing them communicate the unmistakable yo's and creo's that characterize Korean. I reported the news to my mom and my dad and my sister. They were suitably impressed. Minutes later, I somehow forgot I had already told this to Anna, and I told her again. "Okay, Alex," she said with a there-there smile.

And so I'm home. Home-home. Korea is no longer an everyday reality; it's a rich blur of memories bisected by memorable moments I tried to chronicle with purpose in this blog. What I wanted to achieve is a you-are-there intimacy. Nobody wants to read somebody who writes to the tune of, "I did this, I did that, I did this. Whoo-hoo." I didn't want to yell out my experiences; I wanted to share them. And I tried like hell to pull that off.

It's been a rewarding run. I've been humbled by the emails I've recieved, whether they've been from Korean college students, Australians looking to teach English, or Jewish lawyers from New Jersey stumbling upon my blog while searching for Korean soap opera stars. Thank you for reading, whoever you are.

I don't yet know what the future holds for this blog. I'm currently weighing options to apply for creative writing MFA programs. I'm also investigating opportunities to take Spanish classes in Argentina. That means this website might go on a temporary hiatus and return later with a new focus.

In the meantime, I'm off to enjoy a big, green, juicy Granny Smith apple, which reminds me of this one time in Korea...

Just kidding, Anna.

Here are the final photologues.

Bangkok-Phuket Sept 13-17 08, PART 1
Bangkok-Phuket Sept 13-17 08, PART 2
Bangkok-Phuket Sept 13-17 08, PART 3
September in Korea
October 08 in Korea - And The Days Wind Down...
Two Weeks to Go In Korea...Counting Down
Final Batch of Korea Photos Part 1
Final Batch of Korea Part 2

<---Travelogue #56: The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Part I

--->--->Travelogue #58: South Korea, My Ex

Travelogue #56: The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Part I

2008-10-23T04:30:00.005+09:00

<---Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding

--->Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues

It's 4:28am.

I should be sleeping. I need to be ready at 6am for the hour-long bus ride to the airport. My bags are packed as tight as...well, it's too late and my mind is too not here to come up with an appropriately sound analogy.

Tonight I said goodbye to the friends I've made in Korea. We ate samgyopsal. We sang norebang. There were hugs. Even some tears. Context will come later. Later I will wrap up this travelogue that I started one year ago.

I will wrap things up in the coming days, and I will do so...

at home.

America, here I come.

<---Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding

--->Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues

Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding

2008-10-14T16:15:00.003+09:00

<--- Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

---> Travelogue #56: The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Part I

On Sunday, I was a guest at a wedding and saw a baby tiger, a baby lion, and a full-grown chimpanzee. These critters were not swapping vows for a three-species intermarriage; no, they were mere spectators of a human wedding set in a cozy wooden lodge on the grounds of Everland, South Korea's own candy-coated version of Disney World.

Usually, Hyun-In is a beautiful secretary who works the phones and overbearing parents at Leadersville English Institute, but on Sunday, she was a beautiful bride bedecked in a gown longer than the state of Florida. While she posed for picture after picture in an open-doored parlor, a chimpanzee clung to its master in the next room, interacting with wedding guests who after realizing the bride was a princess-in-the-making, decided it was time to bond with a hairy primate.

Meanwhile, a marching band thumped in unison, a marching band composed of a fair share of white-skinned foreigners, leading Jovan to wonder, "Who decides to say, 'Hey, I'm going to move to South Korea and join a marching band that plays in an amusement park?'"

This was no ordinary wedding; this was an Everland wedding. The ceremony itself continued the carnival of surprises: at one point, the groom brought a baby cub to the front of the congregation. Why? I don't know, but the move was nonetheless greeted with smiles and applause. Instead of a priest or a minister, a professor from Seoul National University presided over the bride and groom's vows, all spoken in Korean of course, leaving my American-born colleagues and I to fill in the gaps of "love," and "eternity" and "faith." Jovan noted the casual chatting amongst the audience during the vows, creating an atmosphere more in the vein of a popular restaurant than that of matrimonial sanctuary. Was this a Korean thing? I always hesitate to label one Korean event I experience as representative of the norm, because clearly, every wedding has its idiosyncrasies, whether you're talking about Korea or the United States or anywhere else on the planet.

That being said, I did hear it's a conventional move to have the bride's mother hop upon the groom's back, and then have the groom race like a rocket through the crowded room. I saw this firsthand, and I don't think I was alone in marveling at how comfortable the bride's mom looked in transit. Maybe they had practiced this routine earlier.

After the ceremony and a tasty buffet lunch, my friend Nick and I found the bride dressed in the traditional hanbok gown. I only know Hyun-In casually, so I did not hug her, but I did say "Congratulations," jutting my palms in the air as if to say come-on-now-you-rascal-you. With a laugh, she repeated my gesture and said, "Thank you, Alex!"

Congratulations, Hyun-In, and let me promise you this: while you're on your honeymoon, I'll take care of the chimpanzee.

<--- Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

---> Travelogue #56: The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Part I

Working on a new post...

2008-10-14T00:21:00.004+09:00

Though my days in Korea are winding down, I'm still planning on completing a couple final travelogues before my departure on the 23rd. Right now I'm working on Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding. I will post it in the coming days.

Thanks for reading!

Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

2008-10-04T20:59:00.012+09:00

<--- Travelogue #53: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 2

---> Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding

The other night I couldn't fall asleep. It was very late and I was very tired but still my mind trilled like a xylophone. Suddenly, I recalled a post I made on this blog last November: "Three weeks down in Korea and forty-nine to go," I wrote. Three versus forty-nine.

Now, I'm on the other side of those numbers: forty-nine weeks down in Korea and three to go. Like many who've come before me, I've started to ponder what I will (and won't) miss about everyday life in this great peninsula. (Disclaimer: my views are shaped by my personal experiences as a hagwon teacher living in Sunae-dong, Bundang-Gu, Seongnam City, Korea from October 2007-October 2008.)

I Will Miss...

- The Kids- A student of mine named Andy is nine-years old. He's got big ears and is gleefully oblivious to their size. He also has a reddened face, and I like to accuse him of drinking dong-dong-ju (a sugary alcoholic drink.) He responds by shouting "NO!" and flinging his little feet under his desk.

Another student I have is Joy. She's also nine, and at the risk of sounding cheesy, she is indeed a joy: always smiling, always scribbling the right answers in her notebook, and always politely asking questions. But the cutest thing she does is when she doesn't know an answer: she smiles, and says, "I...don't know." Not knowing has never seemed so endearing, especially in a room with a brat named Eric who wears rollerblades to class and a guy named Bob who, after I returned from the bathroom one time, pointed at me, waved his hand, and said, "Teacher, poo smell."

As for the children outside of my classes, the children I see in the streets, I act like a giddy fool in front of them. Whenever I see their suspicious eyes, I read a who-is-that-strange-foreigner question written in their pupils, and I comply with whatever preconception they might have of me: I dance, I arch my eyebrows, I puff out my cheeks, I squiggle my nostrils. I act like Robin Williams at a talk show appearance, reveling in attention ranging from smiles and laughter to absolute confusion.
In short, I've participated in a number of crazy-eyed staring contests with little Korean kids. I like the liberty of their low expectations: if they look at me strangely when they first see me, I can thereafter be as silly as I want. Win-win. Or in the words of Michael Scott, win-win-win.

- The Foreigners - By foreigners, I'm talking about "waygooken," that is, non-Koreans. In Korea, I've met a fascinating melange of people: take the lanky African-Canadian who plays basketball to hide from his overprotective Korean girlfriend, or the biracial Hawaiian anarchist who plans to go into farming. I met both of them by chance: the African-Canadian saw me walking into town with a basketball and flagged me down, introduced himself, and asked if I needed another body to hoop it up. We played one-on-one and he told me about his history of more than a hundred sexual acquaintances. "You can write my book, man," he told me. As for the Hawaiian, I was in the same writers group as he, but we only had lunch because he found me in a random Itaewon backalley after a writers meeting. Itaewon is a crackling stew of hundreds of Americans, Canadians, Russians, and Nigerians, so it's a wonder that he spotted me.

And that's what I will miss: the spontaneity of encounters with people you only find because your different lives somehow crossed and brought you to, out of all places, Korea.

- The Secretaries - The secretaries at Leadersville English Institute are cute. They smile and say, "Annyong, Alex-a."

* And they're also fun when they're not working.

It's the perfect way to start a shift. I sometimes wave at them and then stay in one spot waving for an uncomfortably long time.

- The Food - Through the year, I've talked alot about Korean food on this blog: the communal sit-around of the long tables, the alluring spices of dakgalbi, samgyepsol, and bulgogi, to name just a few of the dishes. What I will remember as an I've-officially-adjusted-to-this-life moment is the one late night in November when instead of craving a Wendy's Spicy Chicken Filet, I craved Jaeyuk DapBap, a Korean dish of sesame-seasoned spicy pork mixed into a big bowl of rice.

My cravings had matured. I was not only going to be okay with a year of Korean food, I was going to enjoy it.

- The Ice Cream - Koreans must love ice cream. For evidence, look at my neighborhood of Sunae. Within a forty-second walk, you'll find a Cold Stone Creamery, a Blue Ice Gelato, a Red Mango, a Baskin Robbins, and a 24/7 convenience store with an ice-case bundle of popsicles, my favorite being the one shaped like a shark's back and called "Jaws". When my parents visited in May, they enjoyed Red Mango's iced yogurt concoction called papbingsu. It was their favorite Korean treat.

In short, I will miss wandering out of my apartment at 2am and returning minutes later with Jaws on a stick.

- The Walking - I walk to work. I walk to the subway or the bus stop when I want to go into town. When I see the neverending congestion of Seoul traffic, I'm thankful I don't drive a car here. Also, there's something about walking that gives you a feeling of independence in a big city where you can get lost. And believe me, you can get lost.

I Won't Miss...

-- The Crowds- There are so many damn people in Seoul. Let me repeat: there are so many damn people in Seoul. And with the crowds in the city come the smells of tossed-away garbage and the pushing and shoving and the sense that you're not so independent, that you're an ant and you're squeezed and there's no escape, because there's always somebody walking centimeters from you.

Where's my oxygen mask?

- The Summer- Damn.

- The Lack of Meatballs - I've seen dozens of Italian restaurants in Seoul and not one of them serves meatballs. Seriously. Seriously. I feel the urge to become a bad caricature of an Italian man and thrust my hands into the air and say, "Why no meatball, my friends?"

- The Tired Students- The last class of the day starts at 10:05pm and ends at 10:45pm. That's late. And if I'm tired, my students are exhausted. Most of them wake up at 6am, go to school from 730am-3 or 4pm. They take a short nap, eat, and come to hagwon. Their eyelids droop as I teach them about TOEFL speaking and ask questions like "Some people enjoy having many friends. Others prefer to have few friends. Which do you prefer? You have fifteen seconds to prep, and forty-five seconds to speak."

The bell rings. They go home and do homework. Then they go to sleep.

That's childhood in Korea, or at least in a large, growing segment of the country.

- The Business of Hagwon- I won't miss the indirectness and the occasional language miscommunication that happens in the office between Korean administrators and American teachers.

If I ever miss my boss, I can just take a look at the picture I snapped of his three-story tall banner.

Let us hail our Glorious Leader.

- The Distance- As for distance, it's not just miles, it's minutes. What I mean is that I can never quite overcome the idea that my morning is America's night and vice versa. At night, after work, my Slingbox airs The Today Show. In June, I watched the primetime NBA Finals with my breakfast. Weird. Still weird.

Sure, the Internet helps when it comes to communicating with family and loved ones from back home. But it ain't the same, Jane. I miss being able to call my family in the middle of the afternoon, just to say hi. I haven't seen my sister in person since Rudy Giuliani and Hillary Clinton were the frontrunners for the 2008 presidency.

Let's just say that I'm excited for the day when my mom and dad will be three-dimensional people rather than pixelated webcam images.

--------------------

I haven't yet mentioned my co-workers. The truth is, to some of them I'm deeply appreciative of what they've taught me and how they've surprised me. Fairly or unfairly, I've always been a first impressions guy, quick to label a person upon first glance as somebody I expect to like or dislike. Well, dare I say it, I've become more open-minded: though I still think that first impressions do reveal a certain side to a person, I've found that most people have other sides belying first impressions.

If you think this is no-shit-obvious, you might be right. But it's one thing to supposedly know this and another to actually feel this, to see certain people surprise you with a zippy sense of humor or a heartfelt gesture that you never quite foresaw. I will take that knowledge with me, the knowledge that the person at whom you first roll your eyes might just become somebody you genuinely respect. People can surprise you, but only if you let them.

Most of the stories I've written on this blog have been about the sometimes humorous, sometimes befuddling criss-crossing of cultural norms and expectations in the eyes of an American in Korea. But what's striking to me is how much I will take home in terms of insight to my own countrymen, particularly those who worked with me in such close proximity for six days a week for fifty-two weeks. Sure, it's not all peaches and cream. As with any office, you have your gossips and your liars. I will not miss them. But as I prepare to return to America in the coming weeks, I've learned to keep my eyes open for new and unexpected friends.

I've learned to keep my eyes open for surprises.

<--- Travelogue #53: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 2

---> Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding

Travelogue #53: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 2

2008-09-29T03:48:00.006+09:00

<--- Travelogue #52: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 1

---> Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

SUNDAY 9/14: Elephants, Monkeys, Sunsets, and...a Farm of Noodles?

You know you're staying in a questionable hotel when you rip two door handles off their hinges over a one-night stay in the Executive Room. For such accommodations at the Vaboir Lodge in Bangkok, the three of us paid only $12 a person, and I guess we got what we paid for: see the view from our balcony.

In Phuket, Thailand, we found a completely different brand of hospitality.

For $20 more a night, we hopscotched budget and found luxury. I suddenly ached to indulge in the Anna Pollack School of Vacationing: laying out by the pool, swimming for a few minutes, and returning to my towel and my iPod. If I was indeed my sister, I would also have an US Weekly in hand, as well as a strong opinion on Lindsey Lohan's impending lesbian nuptials. But that would have to come later, because Sunday was for the elephants.

Yes, that is a photograph of an elephant peeing, and yes, I was astonished by this creature's geyser-like force in going number one.

Jacinta rode the back of her own elephant, while Chris and I shared a seat on the back of another one. For twenty minutes, my sandaled feet dangled by our elephant's grandpa-haired curtain ears as our big gray one plodded and stomped through a trail of flourishing greenery against tropical blue skies.

In some moments of this ride I felt triumphant, as if being on top of an elephant was not so different than being on top of the world. But in most moments, I felt like I was Larry David riding an elephant.

What do I mean? This is what I mean.

Yep. "Riding an elephant in Thailand" was supposed to provide evidence of me looking like an adventurous badass. Instead, it provided me with a string of incriminating photographs that make me look like My Fair Lady. I later inspected these pictures, and concluded, with neuroses of Larry Davidian proportions, that while I had suffered with folded legs, Chris had enjoyed a far wider sitting stance on the elephant. I resented his apparent comfort, though I did nothing about it when I had the chance.

One day, justice will be served to you, Chris Snyder. Expect to sit scrunched-legged sometime, somewhere, in your future!

Later, we saw a "monkey show," where Diamond wowed us by dunking basketballs and unraveling knots, all while being jerked around with a metal collar by his trainer.
\

Now, I'm the furthest thing you can get from a PETA member. When I'm asked what my favorite animal is, I say "cow" because I enjoy juicy hamburgers. That being said, I can't deny feeling a shred of ambivalence at the sight of the beady-eyed Diamond hopping and bopping to its master's whims. I think it was the metal collar that unsettled me, for I felt a twinge of hurt in my own neck when I saw Diamond snapped into one direction and then another. Then again, if Diamond were to be let free, maybe the little bastard would tinkle on my shoulder. I don't know. I just don't know.

After the elephants and the monkeys and a random canoe ride through a sludgy sliver of river, our day's tour guide told our driver to take us back to our hotel. We were on our way, until our guide offered us an alternative: "Before hotel, you want to see farm?"

"What?"

"Farm. Pho farm."

Pho farm? From our understanding, we would check out a farm where Thai people produced the famous Vietnamese pho noodles. Did pho noodles even come from farms? I guess we'd find out.

Or perhaps we would not. This was no farm of noodles; this was a jewelry store. How ironic that our guide's more-than-adequate English suddenly dissolved in explaining exactly where he was taking us. We didn't buy anything, but we got a little taste of a more benign version of the infamous Thailand gem scam.

The perfect prescription for a would-be scam?

Sunset. Even with my dukes up, I could not fight its beauty.

MONDAY 9/15: Jews in Thailand?

After a morning of pooltime in which I neglected to put on sunblock and received a cherry tomato tan, I walked out into the broiling neighborhood outside our resort. And I found a Chabad House.

As I've said before, I'm not a regularly practicing Jew, but I was still pleased to see a sign proudly inscribed with the Hebrew alphabet. Chalk it up to my cozy nostalgia of Sunday school memories from Memphis' Temple Israel. (Though in the mid-1990s, I'd rather watch the NBA on NBC than learn how to read Hebrew.)

Was the Chabad House welcoming?

Even though that man glared at me as I took a picture, I felt welcome enough. I eavesdropped on a crowd of Israeli men chatting on the sofas in the corner of the brightly-lit room, though I didn't understand a word they were saying.

I ordered falafel and challah. Falafel and challah in Phuket, Thailand? Why not?

In the past, I've read that Thailand is a popular vacation spot for Israelis, particularly in terms of young Israeli men and women who just finished their military obligations and are looking for a low-cost adventure. I saw this firsthand, as I listened in on an Israeli woman talking to a Thai cashier in English about a friend's delayed flight from Tel Aviv into Phuket.

Additionally, I saw the rabbi welcome a newly-arrived group of Israelis to the Chabad House, for this establishment is both a restaurant and a lodge. As the rabbi passed my table, I think he wished me a good meal in Hebrew. I nodded thank you.

Shalom.

Tuesday 9/ 16: Bangkok, Part Deux: Rip Me Off Gently

Before our return to Seoul, we had a full day ahead of us in Thailand's capital city. As I stepped out of the Suvarnabhumi Airport into the palpably humid Bangkok air, I wanted to go home. Did I mean home as in Korea, or home as in the United States? At that point, I would have said, "Either." I'd lost my travel jones. I'd lost my as-long-as-it's-something-I-can-write-about-eventually-I-can-deal-with-it-and-even-enjoy-it spirit. I didn't want to be haggled by rip-off artist tuk-tuk drivers. I didn't want to be accosted by street vendors to buy something I didn't want, much less need. Part of me wanted to see if I could get an earlier flight to Korea.

If you're saying, "That's supremely lame," I understand you...in theory. But in reality, come on, man! I was exhausted and sunburnt and Bangkok was hot and sweaty and crowded and cheap and bisected by a puke-brown river on which we rode a motorboat through a shanty-town village where Chris fed fish and Jacinta got angry at the fish for splashing her.

What can I say? On said boat ride, I found myself thinking less about getting ripped off and more about reading Entertainment Weeklys in the backyard of my home-home in Germantown, TN.

I thanked Thailand for its elephants and its monkeys and its cheap cashew nut chicken. But I could not wait to go home, wherever that was supposed to be.

<--- Travelogue #52: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 1

---> Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea

A friend's 07' Thailand experience

Travelogue #52: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 1

2008-09-20T18:08:00.008+09:00

<--- Travelogue #51: A Completely Unauthorized Lonelyy Planett Guide to Seoul Entertainment, 2009

---> Travelogue #53: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 2

Somebody pinched my nipples: I don't know who, and I don't know how.

I don't have man-cleavage, which might sound like an odd thing to tell you, but having no man-cleavage is actually a statement of identity here in Phuket, Thailand, a steamy beach town where five-star resort palisades blend into streets with bleating bar lights, swarthy middle-aged Australian men hand-in-hand with very young Thai women, and hagglers who plea with you to buy everything from cigarette lighters to flower petals to go-go show tickets to magical wands that brush with a ribbit across the ridged spines of frog molds.

Oh, and ladyboys. In Thailand there are ladyboys, mammals with Adam's apples and tight dresses and beach ball breasts of which I witnessed one ladyboy squeeze with workmanlike precision on the sidewalk of Patong Street. She (?) wanted to draw attention towards her and away from the Thai boys plopping monster iguanas onto the spooked shoulders of walking-by foreigners.

If the past few sentences in this passage were messy and chaotic, so was Thailand, or at least the sliver of it I've seen over the past three days.

Who pinched my nipples? I don't think it was a ladyboy; I think it was a lady. It happened under the Tiger Discotheque in a place called "Love Bar". Is that how they show love in Thailand? I guess that's why they call this country the Land of Smiles.

SATURDAY

Bangkok is a throbbing, tentacled organism of a city, its rickety rickshaws crossing lanes and centuries with its smoke-coughing scooters and honking taxis. Billboards promoting Hollywood's latest Adam Sandler movie mix along the landscape with gigantic images of Thailand's princes and princesses, all jeweled gowns and regal composure. From the back of a cab on a rainy afternoon, I behold the mad, smoggy churn of old Bangkok. Apparently there are skyscrapers on the other side of town, in new Bangkok, but that feels like a world's away from here.

We come to a stop outside Wat Pho, or the Temple of the Reclining Buddha. This is my first chance to see Bangkok on my feet. And I'm already tired.

Chris, Jacinta, (two teachers at my hagwon) and I arrived at 1pm after a five-hour flight from Seoul and a 4:45am wake-up. Though Thai Airways fed us well, I was still hungry and exhausted. So -

If Lays Chips wants to expand its market share in Thailand, I suggest a new ad campaign featuring the above photo collage and the slogan, "Buddha wants you to crunch. Do you want to crunch with Buddha?"

Before you decide that I'm being culturally insensitive on hallowed grounds, let me say that much of what I saw at Wat Pho felt anything but holy, unless you consider a little boy flicking fleas off a lumbering stray dog holy. In addition to the strays, I experienced a genuine incredulous did-I-just-see-that moment of a red-faced, deliriously happy British or Australian (I couldn't tell which) man sinking his mouth around the fist of a, well, Thai ladyboy as they strolled across the grounds. The man looked as if he was a puppy who'd finally wrested control of a prized chew toy. As I once told my father in a far different context, "we ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto."

On a more serious note, the Reclining Buddha itself was impressive in its sheer hugeosity.

Before walking into its periphery, you had to take off your shoes as a sign of respect. No problem there, as Korea has gotten me more than accustomed to that. What was interesting was this-

As traveler Philip Roeland puts it, "There was a separate shoe storage area for Thais (again with a sign: for Thais only)...Do Thai feet and shoes smell like roses? Is that the reason why they can’t be stored together with the tourists’ untouchable shoes?" In his essay, Roeland goes on to discuss how not only are shoes treated differently between Thais and foreigners, but so are prices: there are frequently foreigner prices (higher) for certain attractions, and Thai prices (lower or free) for the same attractions. Roeland opines that, "Instead of remembering Thailand as the Land of Smiles, tourists might think of it as the Land-where-you-get-ripped-off-with-a-smile and never come back again." I myself wasn't equipped to much such a leap, then again, our trip had just begun.

As for the "mad, smoggy churn" I spoke of witnessing in the cab, I saw it by foot as we walked south of Wat Pho. Madness. Absolute madness.

Seen: a man in a sleeveless t-shirt on a plastic chair, kicking aside empty beer bottles as he wired together car stereo speakers. Heard: the rattling of movable stalls of grasshopper legs. Smelled: fried grasshoppers, which Chris boldly tried, proclaimed delicious, and remarked, "tastes like anything fried."

Earlier, we passed through a slunk-low market of flowers and fruits I've never before seen with names I've never before heard: rambutans and apple guavas and sopadillas and on and on

*Fruit photos courtesy of Jacinta Green

...with vendors sitting in clusters in front of their fruits, fanning themselves from the cloudy humidity and the constant congestion of people, people, people. I had to pee. Why do I always have to pee during inconvenient times? I somehow snuck into an alley and found a bathroom.

I found similar quality of toilets in China. In conclusion, when it comes to toilets, China and Thailand do not hold a candle to Korea.

Later, I had to go to the bathroom again. Chris and Jacinta marched ahead into the swirl of Bangkok traffic. I confessed that I had to pee, and Chris responded thusly: "Jesus Christ, again?" This angered me, and I think I replied with a not-so-veiled threat of peeing on his face.

I am not proud of my behavior at this juncture.

My batteries were running low. Tired hungry hungry tired hungry hungry tired tired. We taxied to the Suan Lum Night Bazaar, where I enjoyed a plate of green mole chicken for $2 U.S. While Chris took in a Muay Thai boxing match at a nearby arena and Jacinta hunted for bargains in the shopping district, I staggered to the corner of the sidewalk, where a security guard waved me over to sit beside him under an umbrella, so as to escape the drizzly rain.

I sat, my chin grazing my chest. The Suan Lum Night Bazaar was more tourist-friendly than the other areas through which we walked, but the synapses in my brain still felt overloaded: the is-she-or-isn't-she-ness of certain mysterious bodies in short skirts, the pasty backpackers, the cars, the scooters, the madness. I turned and saw another stray dog staring at me. I jolted up in my seat. I don't like dogs.

I was ready to say good-bye to Bangkok.

<--- Travelogue #51: A Completely Unauthorized Lonelyy Planett Guide to Seoul Entertainment, 2009

---> Travelogue #53: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 2

Thailand-bound...

2008-09-12T10:46:00.010+09:00

Thailand is under a declared state of emergency. That being said, it might not be the perfect time to visit the protest-stricken nation, but I'm going anyway. I am Thailand-bound. Bangkok. Phuket. Here I come.

I'll be back next week with words and pictures. Meanwhile, I'll try to stay away from these guys:

Past travels:
Travelogue #25: Diaries of the Chinese New Year, Beijing 2008
Travelogue #29: How I Ended Up at a Police Station in Fukuoka, Japan at 3am...and Somehow Found My Way Home
Travelogue #30: Can Japanese Blowfish Kill You Deliciously?
Travelogue #31: My Not-So-Lonely Planet Guide to Fukuoka, Japan and Busan, South Korea

Travelogue #51: A Completely Unauthorized Lonelyy Planett Guide to Seoul Entertainment, 2009

2008-09-12T10:04:00.016+09:00

<--- Another Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"

---> Travelogue #52: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 1

Earlier this summer, my editor at Eloquence Magazine contacted several expat writers about an opportunity to contribute to the next edition of Lonely Planet: Seoul. Apparently, the Seoul City Government was not satisfied by the portrayal of the city in the last edition of the travel guide, and in turn, wanted to seek out new writers who'd find the cool nooks and crannies of Seoul that were overlooked the last time around.

I was excited but cautiously so - I've learned that the best strategy for any and all writing possibilities is to wait and see what happens. Unfortunately, the opportunity came to naught; my editor told me the City Government was acting in a way that suggested that maybe its opinions don't hold much water with the Lonely Planet publishers.

Oh well. Since I put in the work to produce several blurbs, I figured it'd be best not to let them go to waste. So - if you're in Seoul, or plan to visit Seoul soon, take a look at the following nightclubs and bars I've experienced/enjoyed over the past year. One of them just might be what you're looking for...
--------------------------------------------------
---------
CLUBS

GANGNAM

Club NB
15000W; open late, Gangnam Station

See and be seen in this rainbow-lit hip-hop music video come to life. This enormous nightclub is packed with dancing women in tight shirts and tighter jeans, and the brave men who try to dance with them.

HONGIK

OI
02-334-5484 ; admission free ; Sun-Thurs 1pm-5am; Fri-Sat 1pm-5am; subway line 2 to Hongik University, exit 5

Drop your shoes and dance barefoot in this marshmallow cave of disco lights and pulsing techno. To relax, enjoy a hookah or a cocktail in one of the club's cool, cavernous corners.

BARS

HONGIK

ICEBAR SUB-ZERO
82-2-337-688; admission 15000 W for cape, gloves, ice glass, and one vodka cocktail; 1pm-2am; subway line 2 to Hongik University, exit 5

Sip cocktails from goblets made out of ice, and watch your breath turn into cool wisps inside this igloo of a bar. Refills are 10000 won.

NABI
02-338-4879; admission free; 6pm-3am; subway line 2 to Hongik University, exit 5

A candlelit swirl of African, Asian, and Mediterranean influence, this underground lair of soft pillows and flavored hookah is perfect for intimate conversations late into the night.

BRICXX BAR: HONGDAE
02-3141-5571; admission free, time hours, subway line 2 to Hongik University, exit 5

Surrounded by noisier clubs, this bustling but laidback basement lounge gives you thirty minutes to puff a hookah before you have to return it. Stay for the drinks: the wine list is long.

ITAEWON

THE BUNGALOW: TROPICAL LOUNGE
010-9001-2380; admission free; time hours; subway line 6 to Itaewon Station, exit 2

Nestled in a back alley of Itaewon is this mellow-vibed lounge, featuring three floors of swinging bamboo chairs and sunken tables. If you're hungry, try the surprisingly juicy California Burger for 13000W.

OUTDOOR ACTIVITIES

JAMSIL

SEOKCHON LAKE
A glimmer in the backyard of Lotte World, this manmade lake is circled by a cleanly-lit walking trail popular with couples and families. Expect hearty foot traffic from morning through midnight.

SHOPPING

ITAEWON

WHAT THE BOOK?
02-797-2342; subway line 6 to Itaewon Station, exit 2

Atop the hills of Itaewon sits this small but bustling shop of new and used books patronized by English-speaking expats. Expect an impressive selection of American magazines, from the popular to the obscure.

<--- Another Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"

---> Travelogue #52: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 1

Another Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"

2008-09-06T10:13:00.002+09:00

<--- Travelogue #50: Getting a Shave from a Barber in a Room Full of Naked Korean Dudes

---> Travelogue #51: A Completely Unauthorized Lonelyy Planett Guide to Seoul Entertainment, 2009

A couple months ago, I posted an excerpt from a longer fiction project I'm working on entitled "Half-Virgin." A busy summer at work slowed my progress on the piece, but I'm finally back to writing it.

Here's another excerpt.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A month and a half later I met a freshman in a flowing white summer's dress that fell perfectly on her sun-toasted skin and brightened her brown eyes. The enthusiasm that came to define her I saw immediately, even at a dull conference table full of student newspaper writers. It was in the way she click-clacked the top of her pen one too many times. It was in the way she banged her knee against the table and twisted her mouth into a silent O, though what her mouth really wanted was to do was release a good old-fashioned ouch. It was in how her mischievously crinkled smile said hey-this-meeting-is-kind-of-boring-but-nice-to-meet-you-anyway!

I plotted how to talk to her as if I was organizing a bank heist: I would exit the bathroom in exactly two minutes, right as she would finish talking deadlines with the Entertainment Editor and begin her approach to the elevator. The time prediction I bungled, so I sought refuge at the water fountain. Five, four, she was coming!, three, two -

"Hi, I'm Madeline!" she said, pre-emptively striking my opening line.

We talked about the meeting. So boring, we agreed. "What the freak is a rag right?" she asked and I laughed. She told me she was already thinking of dropping newspaper duties; she was overwhelmed by her pre-law classes, and she wanted to focus on them before Passover, when she'd take a trip home. "I'm Jewish too," I said gently, and Madeline said "A-hoy, fellow tribe member." She then said that was a stupid joke and I said no it wasn't, it was cute.

I learned that her parents were hyping law school, and we bonded for our faces simultaneously scrunched up like tomatoes. But: "I want to be a lawyer!" she said, "I want to represent kids who need help. How cool would that be?" Helping kids would be cool, I told her, distracted by the way her dress hung a little lower on her left, it would be very, very cool.

A lunch date and a fancy dinner later, we stood beneath the plaster columns of an old town courthouse in the middle of nowhere. No kidding, it was in the countryside, all dust and single-lane roads and the spraying of stars in the midnight sky. We were alone and it was late and we were giddy on red wine and marble cheesecake and a semi-earnest conversation about whether pine cones could be used as currency in a forest-based society. I said that was ridiculous, and Madeline asked me what I had against pine cones. "Seriously?" I asked. "I'm always serious," she chirped. "Even when I'm silly I'm serious!"

I tapped one of the courthouse columns and white flakes fluttered off its surface. I told her how it's nice to see a big empty building once in a while, and she said she prefers a big mountain to a big building any day, but this, this was kind of nice. "No, really nice," she corrected herself, lightly touching my wrist, "I like it here."

Then - silence. Even in the darkness I saw her brown eyes. The wine I could smell on her breath, or maybe it was on my breath. I didn't know and it didn't matter. I brushed my thumb against her wrist and she sidled my hand into hers.

And then she burped.

"Excuse me," she whispered, turning away. I wanted to laugh but I just smiled instead.

The moment hung there, and then it fell. I would kiss Madeline later, but not now, not yet.

Chipped flakes of paint trickled down from the roof of the courthouse. This old place was falling apart, but to us it kind of looked like it was snowing.

<--- Travelogue #50: Getting a Shave from a Barber in a Room Full of Naked Korean Dudes

---> Travelogue #51: A Completely Unauthorized Lonelyy Planett Guide to Seoul Entertainment, 2009

Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"

Travelogue #50: Getting a Shave from a Barber in a Room Full of Naked Korean Dudes

2008-09-01T12:07:00.013+09:00

<--- Travelogue #49: Olympic Fever / The Living-in-Korea Photologues April-August 2008
---> Another Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"

Note: This article was featured in an abbreviated form in the October 2008 issue of Eloquence Magazine (South Korea).

I'm overdressed, but it's not like I'm in a tuxedo; I'm wearing an Emory Club Tennis t-shirt and khaki shorts. Sweating, I sit on a wooden bench and stare into a fogged mirror. It's hot in here.

"Here" is a Jjimjilbang, an always-open bathhouse populated by nude men (and nude women on the other side of the doors) indulging in the sauna experience. This is not just about steam, hot water, wet torsos, and conspicuously-placed towels; this is about "casually flappingly naked" men who find no problem hanging out in a heated room watching Korean soap operas with other "casually flappingly naked" men.

So why I am not naked? I'm waiting for the barber. In the past couple months, I've been here several times to have my scraggly beard shaved, and I didn't have to take off my shorts beforehand. That's not to say that others have followed my lead. I've seen quite a few gentlemen lounging in the barber chairs with only a rumpled newspaper to cover their "business." Still, I am the one who is getting the curious glances, and I don't think it's because I am the waygook among many Koreans. I think it's because I'm clothed. And hairy.

Two weeks ago, my regular barber was off work, so I had to go "under the knife" with his replacement, a small oily-looking guy who resembled Dr. Frankenstein's minion. I half-expected him to rub his palms together conspiratorially and say, "Vengeance is mine." As his razors pinched my thick sideburns, he mumbled disgustedly and incessantly, without commas or periods or exclamation points between his muffled words: "Megook hrm hangook hrm megook Hangook hrm." I closed my eyes. All I understood was "megook" and "hangook," the words for "American" and "Korean," respectively. Ouch! His razors bit into my skin. "Hrr err megook hangook Err!" I decided that he was talking about the differences between an American beard and a Korean beard, and that he was concluding that an American beard was thicker and more difficult to eliminate. He grunted again. I opened my eyes and saw in the mirror pockmarks of blood on my chin. Ouch.

Even as I handed him the payment for the roughly-handled shave, he continued, "Err Hrr MEGOOK HANGOOK ERRR." Maybe I had unwittingly lain a curse on his head. I don't know. All I know is that he effectively carved me up and charged me eight dollars for it. Thank God I wasn't naked during the procedure, or else he would have somehow made it impossible for me to ever impregnate a woman. I'm not sure how he would do that, but I'm relieved I didn't have to find out.

Today, the better barber is in. He has a George McFly hairstyle that he transplanted onto my own head the last time he gave me a cut.

He's a surgeon with a scalpel and an an array of hot and hotter towels to press against my chin. In spite of his alcohol-sweetened breath, he never makes a false move in the forty-five minutes he dedicates to my shave. No blood, no problems.

Feeling refreshed, I rise from the chair. This routine has somehow become normal, this whole coming-into a-Jimjilbang-and-getting-a-shave-in-a-heated-room-full-of-
naked-Korean-bodies. In the future, will this even feel like a real memory?

Ask me when I step into a brightly-lit Fantastic Sam's in 2009 America.

<--- Travelogue #49: Olympic Fever / The Living-in-Korea Photologues April-August 2008

---> Another Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"

Travelogue #49: Olympic Fever / The Living-in-Korea Photologues April-August 2008

2008-08-25T03:14:00.003+09:00

<---Travelogue #48: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 2

--->Travelogue #50: Getting a Shave from a Barber in a Room Full of Naked Korean Dudes

I wanted to write about how Olympic fever has swept over Korea, but to be honest, I've lost the desire to produce a full-length essay about this fever with the Games complete. Still, I won't forget the morning when I let my SAT class rowdily watch America's Michael Phelps out-swim Korea's Park Tae Hwan. We watched the race on one student's digital dictionary/microtelevision, a suspenseful event in and of itself, for the image on the screen kept pausing at crucial moments of the race, leading my students to manically tug at the antenna and exclaim come-on-alreadys. An administrator's voice then bellowed through the intercom, announcing to our school that Park Tae Hwan had just won the silver medal! Woots rolled through the classrooms. With Phelps the gold-medal-man, I subtly shook my fist and said, "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!"

I also won't forget the constant gatherings by the windows of the Bundang storefronts, all to watch some young Korean woman do her country proud in archery or weight-lifting. Delivery drivers, businessmen, and families would stand side-by-side, together checking out the matches. (Jang Mi-ran broke the world record for female weightlifting, and all my students have memorized her name. Even the boys proudly mime her lifting stance. )

So Korea had Olympic fever, and for much of the past two weeks, the national positivity rubbed off on me. Work-wise, "busy season" has ended and the brutal summer has finally cooled.

Thank you, God.

So, now I thought it'd be a good time to reflect on that long summer (and the spring before it) in pictures (and captions). (SORRY PICTURE LINKS ARE DEAD. WORKING ON GETTING THEM BACK UP. PLEASE GO ONTO Travelogue #50: Getting a Shave from a Barber in a Room Full of Naked Korean Dudes )

Mom and Dad's Korean Vacation Part 1

Mom and Dad's Korean Vacation Part 2

April and May in Korea

Hot Sweaty Korean Summer

The Summer Continues....

<---Travelogue #48: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 2

--->Travelogue #50: Getting a Shave from a Barber in a Room Full of Naked Korean Dudes

Travelogue #48: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 2

2008-08-15T17:59:00.001+09:00

<---Travelogue #47: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 1

--->Travelogue #49: Olympic Fever / The Living-in-Korea Photologues April-August 2008

Minutes later, we were led onto base and into a multipurpose sanctuary. Tonight it'd be used for a Jewish service; perhaps on Sunday it would be used for a Christian one. This dual spirituality came to light through one of the members of our congregation: a priest by the name of Father O'Neill. "Great to see you, Rabbi," he told Chaplain Avi Weiss in a rosy baritone of a voice. "Thank you for joining us, Father," responded Rabbi Weiss.

As the service began, additional visitors came into the chapel. I was struck by one particular moment when a soldier in full military garb walked into the sanctuary, peeled off his beret, and replaced it with a yarmulke. I smiled at the symbolic switch: before a soldier, and now a Jew.

The attendees on this Friday night could be reduced to no statistic or stereotype. In the second row sat a well-dressed man with the silver-haired stature of a CIA character from The Bourne movies. No wonder, this guy was the real thing: he works for the U.S. Department of Defense. In another pew sat a Korean teenager wearing skinny jeans. Behind me sat a black general from West Virgina, the rabbi's commander in the military order. "Thank you for letting me pray with ya'll," said the general. "I am humbled." Beside me Jovan flipped through the Hebrew Bible, catching on quickly to the whole pages-turn-backwards element of the exercise. Rabbi Weiss conducted the service more like a class than a lecture, asking us to read passages and answer questions. As I hummed along to the Shabbat hymns, I felt at once reconnected to my Jewish identity and, strangely, reminded of my distance from it.

My knowledge of biblical history is at best scattershot, and I long ago forgot the Hebrew I learned for my Bar Mitzvah Torah portion. To me, Judaism is about family and loved ones. Singing those Friday night songs in a sanctuary largely full of strangers, I felt the presence of memories oceans and years away. I felt the shadows of a once-upon-a-time girlfriend and a Rosh Hashana afternoon in a South Carolina synagogue. I felt shadows of my mom and my dad, humming prayers and patting me lightly on the shoulder, knowing my eleven-year-old mind was mulling more the Chicago Bulls than Deuteronomy. I felt the presence of these shadows, and I felt far, far away from home.

"Who says there's no Jews in the South?" said Father O'Neill, grinning like St. Nick. The service had just ended, and we were walking towards the dining room to bless the bread and ceremoniously nosh on it. When I told Father O'Neill that my home was Memphis, Tennessee, he told me with great relish that, several years ago, he had seen a terrific PBS special on the Southern Jews of the United States. "Fascinating," he said in conclusion, "absolutely fascinating." I nodded good-naturedly, thinking this was a unique moment in my Korea experience: someone was tailoring his conversation towards my Jewishness, rather than my status as a waygook (foreigner) or a megook (American). Shabbat Shalom, Father.

After the blessings over the bread and the wine, I casually tried to introduce Jovan to gefilte fish, a squiggly gelatin-like treat that tastes pleasantly gooey but is not particularly gorgeous. She declined it, but remained positively open-minded in much of her first Shabbat encounter. After hearing that the Rabbi's wife had just visited a daughter in Israel and that said daughter had recently given birth to twins, Jovan almost said, "Mazel Tov!" Almost.

"Does that mean 'congratulations'?" she asked me later. "Yeah," I said, "you should have said it! That would have been cool."
"I wasn't sure if it was right," Jovan remarked, "I mean, I only saw people say that on TV."

After the meal, Mo returned to walk us off the base. I told him how I read that only one hundred Jews lived in South Korea, and did he think the real number was more or fewer? "I think it's more than that," Mo said, "There's the Israeli embassy in Seoul. Lots of Israelis there. But they have their own Shabbat thing. They don't come to the base." Mo also told us how, in April, a Chabad chapter opened in Itaewon, and its director is keen on expanding. "They run things from a small apartment now, but he's on a mission," Mo chuckled. "He's on a mission."

I don't think I'll be part of that mission, for I'll return to the United States in late October. But I still wish the Jewish hundred (+) in Korea a hearty good luck, and in the words of the Korean man in the Yankees hat after Friday's service, a "Good Shabbos."

<---Travelogue #47: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 1

--->Travelogue #49: Olympic Fever / The Living-in-Korea Photologues April-August 2008

Travelogue #47: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 1

2008-08-11T19:24:00.005+09:00

<---Travelogue #46: A Snapshot of Korean Pop Music, 2008

--->Travelogue #48: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 2

More than forty-eight million people live in South Korea, an East Asian peninsula roughly the size of Indiana.

Of these crowded millions, many go to church; just look at the nighttime sky of Seoul, illuminated by dozens of giant neon crosses promising Sunday salvation. Korea also has a large population of Buddhists and a pervasive sense of Confucianism: you are expected to obey your elders, engage in ritualized politeness,and aspire for "social harmony," no matter what your religious upbringing. Finally, a Muslim minority thrives across the peninsula, numbering anywhere between 40,000 and 100,000, depending on the source. More than five mosques have opened here; that doesn't match the twenty-one in Indiana, but an Islamic presence has nevertheless made a mark.

What's not as evident in the public eye is the existence of a different faith in Korea, one that gives new meaning to the word "minority": Judaism. The Jewish People Policy Planning Institute estimates that one hundred Jews live in South Korea. One hundred Jews. That's not many, but it's not bupkes either. Jews in Korea represent a cross-section of foreign businessmen, teachers, and U.S. military personnel. There is no designated synagogue in the country, but there are venues that provide Shabbat services, the most prominent one being the Yongsan Garrison U.S. Army Base in Seoul. Last Friday night, I went to Yongsan to observe Shabbat for the first time since I arrived in Korea last October. What I experienced was a Jewish community unlike any I've ever seen in my life.

By conventional definitions, I'm not a particularly observant Jew. I don't keep kosher, I don't fast on Yom Kippur, and though I eat matzoh during Passover, I also indulge in bread. In January 2007, I went to Israel for ten days; I slipped a note into the the crevices of the Western Wall and felt awed by its spiritual tug. However, when it came time later to write about my Israeli experience, I was more compelled to chronicle the country's pop culture influences and not its sacred monuments. Instead of writing about Jerusalem's Old City, I wrote about an Israeli soldier's affinity for gentile comedian Conan O'Brien.

Last year, I took a job in Korea knowing it not to be a bastion of Jewish life. After all, hagwons are open on Friday nights and Saturday mornings; you can't bless challah when you're on the clock. As the months passed, I couldn't help but feel a hint of sadness at the sight of Jewish holidays unfolding only on a calendar and not in my community. Though I hadn't always strictly honored those holidays in the past, I still found myself feeling their absence in a land where "Shalom" isn't in the vocabulary. It was only a rare hagwon vacation that afforded me a free Friday and a visit to Yongsan. Joining me was Jovan, my Texas-bred friend and co-worker, who was curious about Judaism. She had never before been to a Jewish service, much less one in Korea. I'd be experiencing this night through both my eyes and hers.

"I'm Moshe," said a barrel-chested man with a prominent and crinkled forehead. He shook my hand firmly. "But that's my Jewish name. You can just call me Mo."

Mo would be our escort onto the military base. Because Jovan and I were civilians, we'd need to be accompanied by him, even though we were just there for the service. Already this was portending to be a different kind of Shabbat; I'd never before had to flash my passport and pass through a barbed-wire entrance to christen a night of Torah and gefilte fish.

A crowd of six or seven began to gather outside the base's entrance, and aside from the appearance of one curly-haired Woody Allen lookalike, this Jewish congregation looked overwhelmingly Korean. "Many of them are here to learn," Mo told us, "They're not going to convert, but they like what the Talmud says about how parents should relate to children." Mo then nodded to one older Korean outfitted in a yarmulke, an Argentina soccer jersey, and black pants strung with a gartel. "He did convert," Mo said. "He studied very hard, and it took him a long time."

I was reminded of Larry Milder's jangly tune, "Wherever You Go, There's Always Someone Jewish." Milder sings humorously that, "some Jews wear hats, and some Jews wear sombreros." I think he forgot to add the line, "and some Jews are Korean and wear Argentina soccer jerseys."

<---Travelogue #46: A Snapshot of Korean Pop Music, 2008

--->Travelogue #48: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 2

Travelogue #46: A Snapshot of Korean Pop Music, 2008

2008-08-03T02:00:00.027+09:00

<---Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"
--->Travelogue #47: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 1

I sing Korean pop songs to my students. My fans gasp in oh-my-God recognition and say, "very good, teacher," while my foes cover their ears and call me "uhm-chee", the word for bad singer. Sometimes I pretend my class is an adoring audience, one that shows its fanhood more by being confused than by shouting "Encore!"

Only when my students are too quiet do I pipe up with a verse of mispronounced words sung with absolute conviction. If nothing more, it's an attention-getter. The tunes I've butchered over the past nine months have given me a window into the 2008 Korean pop scene. I've mocked some songs, and I've bopped my head to others.

Join me now for a quick look and listen at a few inescapable hits that you'll hear every time you walk down a street in Seoul. The cell phone vendors and coffee shops aren't playing the "I Kissed a Girl" song, they're playing this:

SG Wannabe "Lalala"

I would be lying if I said I hadn't chanted this one many times: "Sarang-hey-yo...la la la!" The lyrics basically say, "I love you," in multiple variations. I didn't know this fact, so when I sang this to ten-year-old Sally in one of my lower level classes, I could have been asking for a lawsuit.

Epik High "One"

I have a strange relationship with this song. The first time I heard it was in the GS25 convenience store in my apartment building: I was microwaving some spaghetti when suddenly I heard-

TIME IS TICKIN' T-TIME IS TICKIN' TICKIN'!

I thought I was having an epileptic seizure. This music was EAR-BRUISINGLY LOUD. But, for some reason, the song faded out after the first verse. Weird, I thought. I turned back to my spaghetti and -

TIME IS TICKIN' T-TIME IS TICKIN' TICKIN'!

I jumped. What the hell was going on? The song again faded after the first verse, lulling me into a false sense of security -

TIME IS TICKIN' T-TIME IS TICKIN' TICKIN'!

The cashier was not fazed by this sudden start and stop and restart of the same goddamn song and the same goddamn verse. Was I losing my cheerios? Or was I getting Punk'D? I kept waiting for the Korean Ashton Kutcher to tackle me into a shelf of ramen, but he never arrived.

I heard this song later, and was surprised to find I kind of liked it, as long as I wasn't made to listen to it under GS25's Clockwork Orange conditions.

The Wonder Girls "So Hot"

And finally....The Wonder Girls. I'm not a fan. "I'm so hot...I have charm...everybody's watching me." That's the rough translation of the lyrics, as seen in the above subtitled video. This "song" makes me wants to download Rhianna's "Umbrella" for pop music with more steak and sizzle. Did I just endorse Rhianna on this blog? Hey, I'd take her over The Wonder Girls or Girls Generation. When it comes to bubblegum songstresses, I have to give it up for the Yanks. My apologies, Korea.

One more time -

TIME IS TICKIN'! T-TIME IS TICKIN' AWAY!

<---Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"
--->Travelogue #47: Shabbat Shalom - Jewish Korea on a Friday Night, Part 1

Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"

2008-07-27T22:59:00.010+09:00

<---Travelogue #44: How My Favorite Class Changed, Grew Up, and Said Goodbye
--->Travelogue #46: A Snapshot of Korean Pop Music, 2008

Note: This article was featured in an abbreviated form in the September 2008 issue of Eloquence Magazine (South Korea).

On Sunday it stopped raining and I went to Quiznos for lunch.

That was supposed to be the beginning and end of a non-story of a weekend afternoon: I would eat an angus steak sandwich and grade a mountain of bland TOEFL essays on how "clothes make people different." That was my plan...until he walked into the Quiznos.

"Hi," he said crisply. He was a middle-aged Korean man with a mischievous younger man's smile hiding under a baseball cap and an easy this-is-my-neighborhood swagger to his walk. A woman I later learned was his wife followed him closely. "Handsome beard," she told me. "Thank you." I said, thinking if only everybody used "Handsome beard" as a greeting, we'd all be happier people.

I returned to eating my sandwich and grading my papers. When I looked up to contemplate how in the hell to fix a sentence reading, "People behave differently when they wear different clothes, because the clothes make them act so, they make people remind of their position, and control people's mind," I found the man suddenly taking a seat at my little table. "Where are you from?" he asked casually. I told him Memphis, and he asked if that was near Seattle. I told him it was in the south of the U.S. and then I said what many Memphians say: "Elvis Presley is from there." My table-mate responded with, "I like American pop music." He rattled off the names of a few Beatles songs, and then turned our conversation to a more obscure direction.

"I'm the happiest... girl..." he sang lightly but surely, "in the whoooo-le U.S.A....good morning, sunshine!"

Here I was on a Sunday afternoon at a Quiznos in Bundang, Korea, listening to an older man sing to me, "I'm the happiest girl in the whole U.S.A."

I didn't know whether to feel slightly uncomfortable or strangely patriotic.

"Do you know this song?" he asked me.

I didn't. "Who sings it?"

He paused. "A woman. Female!" He then reached across the table and took my pen and a sheet of paper. He scribbled down the following note:

I later laughed aloud at the "song by female," but as he was writing it, I merely nodded politely.

"Excuse you," he said, handing me back my pen.

"Oh, excuse me?" I said, cautiously correcting him.

"Yes, excuse me. It was a joke!"

We chuckled together and he started to ask me another question, before deciding to use the pen again:

"C.C.R....Creedence Clearwater Revival?" I asked. This time he did the nodding and I did the singing: "I see, a bad moon, rising," I sang.

"Tom Jones!" he countered.

Was Tom Jones a member of Creedence Clearwater Revival?

I didn't know. To be honest, the main factoid I knew about Tom Jones was that he once guest-starred on a very special episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

"...had a barrow in the marketplace..." my new friend sang proudly.

Was that a line from a Tom Jones' song? "It's Not Unusual"? It sounded so familiar...because as I discovered on the internet, it was from The Beatles "Obla-Di, Oblah-Dah." I also learned that Creedence Cleerwater Revival has nothing to do with Tom Jones.

But that didn't matter to my new friend and me. When his wife finally received her fruit smoothie, he arose from the chair and told me of the location of his restaurant. I told him I'd visit it.

Minutes later I sat in the same spot at Quiznos, mulling the bygone moment. And then he came back. Had he left something behind? Apparently he just wanted to chat up the Quiznos employees one more time, and then he was ready to leave for good. He glanced in my direction. "I miss-a you," he said.

I didn't catch his name, but I will remember him as...the happiest girl in the whole USA.

Related Posts:
Travelogue #35: The Usual Suspect at Dos Tacos in Gangnam (A similarly random mealtime encounter in Korea)

<---Travelogue #44: How My Favorite Class Changed, Grew Up, and Said Goodbye

--->Travelogue #46: A Snapshot of Korean Pop Music, 2008

A Message to My Readers

2008-07-22T14:23:00.005+09:00

It's hard to find blog competitions.

I've been looking for some in earnest without much success, but what I didn't account for is my ever-vigilant mom. Yes, my mom, a lady who once upon a time saw copying and pasting as the height of computer savvy. Things have changed, for she is now a master of Google and has found blog4reel.com.

Blog4Reel is a real-deal enterprise and I've been in contact with its showrunners. It's a grassroots organization from San Antonio, TX, and the people in charge show legitimate interest in helping aspiring writers/bloggers. Blog4Reel will be featured on a future episode of CNN Headline News "News to Me," and I've been informed that my blog might be featured on the show! Anyway please click the VOTE NOW link on the top-right of this page to register and vote for Writing the Ship to Korea. Thanks!

P.S. I hope you're not discouraged by registering to vote. Blog4Reel does this so it can distinguish legit votes from illegitimate ones. (If you have difficulties voting, let me know. I'd like to take this contest seriously.)

Thanks again!

Travelogue #44: How My Favorite Class Changed, Grew Up, and Said Goodbye

2008-07-20T20:25:00.016+09:00

<---Travelogue #43: My Hot, Sweaty, Drippy Korean Summer
--->Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"

From the first day of last November to the middle of this July, I experienced a relationship full of laughter, learning, and frustration. Through its peaks and valleys I felt like an authority figure, a put-upon older brother, and a performance artist, often all at once. When calling attendance, I was apt to sing a student's name (Jenn-i-FER! Jenn-i-FER!) to vociferous boos of "uhm-chee" (Korean for "bad singer"). I would then raise my voice to calm the noise, laugh, twirl my black marker through the air, and teach-act vocabulary words like "presumptuous" and "arrogant" with over-the-top gestures. My students would giggle, sometimes with me, sometimes at me. One mastered the art of rolling her eyes. Many of them would never accept my hairy legs. But through it all, they raised their hands. They wanted to participate. They really wanted to participate. "Don't chew (ignore) me teacher!" Ray would say if I wouldn't pick him to read. "Ray, I'm doing my best, everybody wants to read," I'd say. He'd mull this for a moment. "You're chewing me!" he'd shout. All this would happen in the span of a single forty-minute class, and before I'd know it, the bell would ring.

On Friday, after seven and half months, the bell rang for the last time. (If my students would read that sentence, they would groan, "Cheesy, teacher!" Here's to you guys.)

In the beginning, the class was just one: Anna. She was twelve-years old, blue-framed glasses creeping up her nose, and a shy squeaky English that started and stopped at random beats. Anna was smart and an avid reader; she liked Peter and the Starcatchers, a hit children's book published in the United States. I could actually have a real conversation with her; she found humor in my jokes not just because she thought I made a goofy face, but because she could understand my words. I discovered quickly this would not be some low-level "what does the word 'recipe' mean?" ESL class, but a legitimate exchange of ideas. I was excited.

A couple weeks later, the class had grown to six or seven. All of them were bright.

Just like any promising relationship, initial excitement stabilized into mutual comfort and affection. I respected them, and they respected me, though one of them, after learning my middle name, began to call me "Greg" in the hallway instead of "Mr. Pollack." As a class we chuckled over the dunderheaded Gavin Bloom, a silly character in a detective story who would talk about going for a fun swim rather than solving the mystery at hand. The students plainly got it.

They understood character motivations and they cracked the story's mystery far sooner than did the characters. As for interaction among the students themselves, the boys and girls did not sit next to each other, but they did get along, laughing at each other's jokes and listening to each other's comments.

Shortly after a memorable day in late February, things started to change. The class grew larger and continued to grow larger through the spring. Instead of six pairs of hands raised high in the air, there were thirteen or fourteen.

One student wrote emails to me, complaining that she was not given enough time to talk, nevermind that she was already the most vocal participant in the room. My perfect class looked less and less perfect by the day: one boy began to annoy everybody, to the point where students were outwardly whispering "shut up." Another student suffered from a severe lack of confidence, and a peculiar hiccup-cough when she read aloud. Though she was one of the best writers in the class, she rarely wanted to participate. Some new kids came into the class, became overwhelmed by the intimidating sea of raised hands, and never returned. The kids' light-hearted jokes at my expense hardened to the point that the hiccup-girl wrote a scary story that ended with me killed by a whiz of bullets. What began in November as a family-like atmosphere of easygoing education had turned into a circus of side-chatter, hurt feelings, and kids feeling either ignored or put on the spot. Again I analogize it to a real relationship between two people, albeit the comparison this time is a negative one: what used to be by turns thrilling and comforting became not-so-vaguely annoying.

My eyes wandered. I took a deeper interest in another class, one with a small number of sweet-natured, engaged students.

I even bought them ice cream. They were quickly becoming...my new favorites.

The new schedule for busy season was released last week. I noticed that I had lost the class I had maintained ever since that afternoon in November. My supervisor said there was no malicious motive for the switch; the reason was to merely let the students see a new face in front of the dry-erase board.

Friday was my last day. I brought three bags of candy. Also, I aimed for the nostalgia card, printing out a paper with this picture :

The picture backfired. "Why are you frowning at Joy?" they demanded. Poor Joy was the youngest girl in the class: a fourth grader among fifth and sixth graders. When we studied Edgar Allan Poe's "The Black Cat," she covered her ears at the scene where the demented narrator cuts out a feline's eyeball. "Don't worry, it's not real!" I said. "But it makes me think of my rabbit!" Joy said. Keria, precocious Keira, cut in with, "Mr. Pollack, stop reading this story! You're being selfish!"

With that history, I should have known Joy might have been sensitive. "Why are you making that angry face at me?" she asked.

I explained that it was supposed to be funny, but the kids weren't laughing. It was my last day, and all they could talk about was my mean face in the picture.

They brightened up when I popped open the bags of candy. I told them they could ask me or tell me anything, that this would be our closing day where we could wrap up our classtime and just talk. Joy raised her hand. "Yes," I said. "How many candies are we allowed to get?" she asked.

What can you do? Kids like candy. Still, a few of them reminisced about my hairy legs, with Grace arguing that class was better in the winter when I wore pants. Ray asked questions about a girl whom I described a few speaking tests ago. The students' task was to describe their ideal future husband or wife, and to properly embarrass myself so they wouldn't be embarrassed, I had described my "dream girl."

We chatted briefly about what they had learned in the class, but mostly they just fought over the chocolate. When the bell dinged, there were good-bye high-fives, waves, and with the more brittle students, only nods of the head. I don't remember whether or not I told them I'd miss them.

Will I miss them? Some of them, sure, but all of them? Probably not. I will see them in the hallways over the next three months; after that, I'll probably never see them again.

Will I change my mind about missing those who annoyed me? If you ask me three years down the line, will I smile at the memory of the girl with the hiccup-cough who plotted my death in her scary story?

I guess we'll have to see.

<---Travelogue #43: My Hot, Sweaty, Drippy Korean Summer
--->Travelogue #45: Why A Korean Man Told Me He's "The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA!"

Travelogue #43: My Hot, Sweaty, Drippy Korean Summer

2008-07-12T19:16:00.010+09:00

<---Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"
--->Travelogue #44: How My Favorite Class Changed, Grew Up, and Said Goodbye

She worms into your skin, leaving microscopic but persistent beads of sweat on your knees, your ankles, and your lower back. "Hot" is not the right word for her. Neither is "humid." She is altogether more ominous, more insidious, and more alive. In an otherwise empty apartment she's a companion who refuses to leave. You hide under the weak puff of an outmatched air conditioner. You try cold showers. You put on a fresh t-shirt, only to peel it off moments later. You can't escape. She is summer, and her name is Seoul.

I thought I knew heat. I grew up in Memphis, TN, infamous for its thick hazy Julys as memorialized in Hustle and Flow. I didn't love the unblinking humidity of the Bluff City, but I could handle it. I got used to it. Every year offered the same harsh-sun ninety-something temperatures, and every year I reacted the same way: I jumped into swimming pools and drank a lot of Dr. Pepper. Even though I grew impatient with the season, I survived it and didn't mull it too much once the leaves started changing colors.

But here it's different. Temperatures hover in the the low eighties, effectively deceiving you into expecting mild breezes that never quite come. There's a sneakiness in the broiling gray air that makes you squirm, inch-by-sweat-stained-inch. When the rain finally drops, it steams.

On the first day of July, I walked zombified through the neighborhood of Seohyeon with my friend Jovan. We sought refuge from the cloudy heat at California Pizza Kitchen, sipping iced mojitos through straws and staring out the windows, prematurely ready for September browns and October orange. We later wandered into the movie theater for a evening showing of Wanted, and despite the film's abundance of knife-fights and Angelina Jolie, I fell asleep during the climax. Seoul's oppressive summer is turning me into my dad.

As for Fourth of July weekend, it offered no fireworks and no flapping stars and stripes, but some of us did our best to conjure the spirit of the day: that meant Ogles bringing hamburgers into the office. Korean teachers and American teachers sat side-by-side, chowing down on patties from the Japanese-based Freshness Burger chain. We Americans shared stories of Fourth of July traditions, and the Koreans oohed and nodded in the same way I would if I was being told of Chuseok. It's funny to think that a holiday so ingrained in you by years and years of memories can be so, well, foreign to somebody else. For that somebody else, the Fourth of July is nothing more than a few lines in a history book or an occasional conversation with an American.

The world is big, dude.

And the summer in Seoul is long. Two days ago I bought a fan. I'm ready to fight the heat.

Bring it on.

<---Excerpt from "Half-Virgin"
--->Travelogue #44: How My Favorite Class Changed, Grew Up, and Said Goodbye