Carthago Delenda Est

Crouching Tiger, Peking Duck
It was nice to have someone to come home to. We went out for galbi, and talked, and talked about work. ME was supportive and helpful about everything. That night, we went out to the Western bar, hobnobbed and kibbitzed, especially with two cute potentially gay guys, and with an English teacher I'd met when I first arrived, O.K. (I can't remember if that was his original handle. He was friends with D.V., J.L., and the Welsh guy.) I got too drunk, and then A.H. and Z.K. came in, and A.H. went off about how Mr. K. tried to manipulate them and divide the office. No slouch, she. I decided she was a good person to hold onto.

We went home and crashed. The next day, I had a bit of a hangover, but we made the trek into Seoul anyway to visit B.D. M.E. didn't think he was as cute as I did, but we all did have a pleasant conversation, hangover notwithstanding. B.D. shared some of his thoughts on China, which he found really interesting but very edgy too. He didn't like the food as much as Korean, too saucy and fatty, he said. We couldn't stay too late, though, as our flight was the next day.

We wended our way back, and the next day, it was up at the crack of dawn, again, to go to the airport, again. We boarded our flight, no problem, and a short short time later were in the Chinese capital. M.E. switched roles and became our guide. He had been reading up on China, knew some rudimentary Chinese and had the map of the city and the inside scoop from Lonely Planet.

So, after clearing customs, he hailed a (certified!) cab and took us to our hotel. It was a low-rent state-run operation in the heart of the city, relatively cheap, no frills, but a functional bathroom and a T.V. with one English station. Not too bad.

We went for a little walk that day, tried to find a good restaurant reccommended by Lonely Planet. Closed. So we turned back and walked toward Tianamen Square, but didn't see anyplace too likely. So we went to the Orient Plaza Mall, or, as they say on Long Island, the Maul. Snatched up and eviscerated by the ubiquitous claws of global capitalism. Such irony.

Anyway, we had a lovely dinner at a really classy restaurant tucked away in the back, which I was determined to pay for, along with almost all the other meals we'd eat, in gratitude for all the times M.E. had treated me on the Island. We had our first taste of Peking Duck and Suckling Pig, and boy howdy. The notion that Northern Chinese food is inferior to Southern Chinese is a wild exaggeration, I am happy to report.

As a matter of fact, we had very few unsatisfactory meals the entire trip. We tried everything from high-end restaurants to chains to street vendors, and it was always at least satisfactory, usually succulent. The Chinese food is surprisingly similar to the stuff you get back in the states, though typically with less fried rice and noodles and more vegetables. It's basically the same sauce and flavors, though, of course, the authentic food is more nuanced and spicy. Savory.

Two meals especially stand out: one, the Chinese Muslim restaurant in the bar district, which served spicy chicken and beef, very tasty; and two, the Tibetan food. This involved yak butter tea and yak beef stew, a confection litterally simmering in its own fat, and my lord, you've never had anything so tasty. Spicy, fatty, but not too oily. We loved it, though M.E. found a limit to his intake of the tea.

There was also a cream puff place, absurdly called "Beard Papas" in Roman letters (In emulation of Western brands? Strange.) which we were both ashamed to admit was addictively good. Sigh.

We saw the usual sights, of course. (Continued. Sorry, busy...)

Between Silla and Charybdis
I cannot even BEGIN to encapsulate all the drama that has unfolded over recent weeks. I apologize if I have been out of commission for a while. It's been a lot to take in.

Foremost was my recent visit to China with M.E. You may recall, he's the ex-boyfriend I left behind in New York when I went to Korea. A few months after I left, he too left New York, for a lab in Boulder. (He's a physics grad student.) He likes it a lot more than Long Island.

So, for a week before winter break, I was running around like the proverbial headless chicken, trying to cram all the preparation I needed to do into a few spare hours. Gift buying, gift wrapping. B.D., my young German friend, was supposed to visit, but it didn't pan out. Probably for the best, it would have created needless confusion, in an already confused situation. I was already putting B.I. on the backburner for the entire time, the repercussions for which I'm still unsure of.

I woke up early on Friday morning, and took the shuttle bus to the airport. It was the first time I'd used it, so I was a bit apprehensive, but I got there with ample time to spare. Only problem: no Starbucks in the airport. Nor all of Inchon, now that the one in the Shinsegae mall has been shut down. At any rate, I got to the airport at 6 am, and there he was, and there we were. It was like we'd never been apart.

We went back to Yeonsudong, he unpacked, and we had some nice breakfast. I went to work early, feeling like a world-beater. I was ready for anything.

That, of course, was when the shit really hit the fan. J. broke it to me that me, M., and J.S. were expected to make up the spare periods we had due to schedule reshufflings by giving our time to the school's Winter Camp program. For free.

Needless to say, we were not happy. For one thing, other teachers, like the guy I replaced, J.L. (who left a week before all this happened), and D. had had spares, and hadn't been required to make them up. D., in fact, had done a camp program and gotten paid for it. We were all extremely pissed, and discussed unionization, except J.S., who was on the fence. He felt his situation was different from ours because our contract was different, and didn't want to bother us with it. Who knows.

Anyway, M., K., and I together told J. that we wouldn't do it. Then, in the 5-minute break before the last class, for me a group of unruly adolescent boys I can barely control, J. and Mr. K. tag-teamed M. and me. We tried to present our side of the situation civilly, and then Mr. K. started yelling. So M., of course, yelled back. And I decided I'd had enough and broke it off. I somehow managed to proctor my unruly students through their test -- the fact that it was a test day made it much easier, though I did whip out an impromptu vocabulary lesson and expel a typically unruly student from the classroom.

I'd heard that Mr. K. yelled at teachers before J.L., but she apparantly terrorized him into civility, not to mention providing air conditioners. He seems to have felt free to revert to form in her absence. Well, needless to say, after the last class, he did try to continue negotiations with me in a more reasonable tone of voice, but I had had enough.

"No more talking! We'll settle this when we get back!" And I stormed out the door.

To Be Continued...

Cold Spell
We have recently experienced a precipitous drop in temperature. I'm pretty sure some cold air from Siberia dropped in for a visit, decided it liked the place, and thought to stay for a few months. Two weekends ago, I found myself in Honggik University area (Hongdae) in Seoul with BD and his crowd. (BI was in Indonesia on business.)

We went to an art gallery opening, which featured some really marvelous pieces. (There is a nascent art scene in Seoul, as I may have mentioned in previous posts.) I was especially partial to the scenes of African life depicted by a Nigerian artist. Unfortunately, the pieces went for $400. Yikes.

BD was his usual flaky, funny, interesting self. He was an hour late, for no justifiable reason, but it was good to see him. We looked at some paintings together, and mulled it over, and then I met his friends, AM and RS, who both seemed intelligent, interesting, and decent people.

There were some crazy art types there, who reminded me of my alma mater. I really liked the goth photography chick. There was one guy, who I remembered from Itaewan, a Korean-American who swore up and down that he wasn't gay (just experimenting). He had a penchant for saying deliberatively provocative things when soused, and boy was he soused. When introduced to BD, he declared that he loved Germany. "Hitler was a great man and a wonderful leader." He was wearing a feather boa and a strange pastiche of clothing styles, thus completing the air of desperate pretense.

Imagine, saying deliberately provocative things to complete strangers. What kind of person does such a thing? *Huuuuuuge grin.*

We emerged from the gallery to a Seoul blanketed in snow, the first of the season. It made the city briskly beautiful, though the traffic that much more dangerous. (Korean motorists are demented anyway.) We trudged to a bar, abandoned it for another bar with cheaper drinks. There I had a conversation with the cutest lesbian, KA. She was from a liberal family in the great state of North Carolina, 35 years old, had worked in an assortment of jobs and made a few documentaries. Teaching in Asia was the culmination of a long-standing dream for her. I found her very salty and down-to-Earth.

Thence we wended our way to a dance club and partied till the wee small hours. It was not a gay club like the WN, my favored haunt in Itaewan, but gay-tolerant. There was one guy, I believe the owner of the place, in his forties, who danced up a storm in between cigarettes. And these incredibly dorky-looking Korean college kids with sweatpants pulled up to their midriffs who kept trying to impress us, for some reason. There was also a fey-looking blonde chick who kept coming on to me. Apparently, she was the wife of a minor local celebrity, a Western guy who taught Korean on Arirang, and she was trying to arrange a threesome with her husband. I told her I was exclusively interested in men.

KA and I crashed at BD's place, a ratty but functional hostel in Gwanghwamun, the scenic bit of Old Seoul that had somehow escaped the ravages of the Korean War and the subsequent half-century of perfervid construction and renovation. (Leave it to a German to find a hostel in the middle of Korea.) The next day, we did Starbucks and had a nice conversation. Then we met up with BD's friends again, AM and RS. I asked if they were an item, but they were just sort of feeling things out. We went out for tea at a really elegant Korean tea room, and I ended up next to AM. From our brief conversation in the bar, I learned that he was ten years older than me, had taught abroad for ten years, both here and in Indonesia.

I got more of his story now, that he had just gotten out of a two-year relationship, which ended for practical reasons -- physical distance, different goals and expectations. He worked at a public school, which was a good job, but lonely, since he was the only Westerner there. He said he'd just gotten in the groove of it. He knew a lot about life in Korea, and Indonesia, and had some interesting stories. I'd love to pick his brain some more.

We also had some interesting group colloquy about politics and German history. BD is a lot more willing than other Germans to discuss his nation's history candidly, though not without strong feelings, obviously. We talked about the Nazi period and the level of German national responsibility for it. It was a really edifying experience. I think that BD's greater willingness to discuss such issues may be related to the fact that, while a German by citizenship and culture, his parents are Dutch and English. So cosmopolitan.

After that, we all went out to see the new Harry Potter film, which was dark and amusing and entertaining. Then dinner at a cheap bibimbop place, and we said our goodbyes.

The past few weeks at work have been trying. J's loss of her father has left her distracted and sometimes irritable and uncustomarily emotionally vulnerable around work. No hysterics, as I expected, but there is strain, and it shows. We had a most unfortunate argument over nothing. I really need to learn to walk away from pointless arguments, even when I'm being civil, when I have nothing at stake and someone else's feelings could be hurt. I feel awful (though frankly, even before her tragedy, J could be kind of a selfish ice queen). I'll buy her a drink.

J and I are a lot alike. Basically spoiled people who want things our way and judge others unfairly, even when they merely share our own failings. I just occasionally own up to the fact. She thinks she's been made "tougher" for her experience. And frankly, if I had to give up a life I loved for five years because of my family obligations, I'd want something to show for it too. Let the lady have her consolation prize. But there's a difference between being tough and being self-centered, which I'm not sure she understands.

I've been pretty depressed since D left. I spent as much time as I could with him, just doing the same old shit. He was a really good friend, and a guide through the Korean experience. I still have BI, of course, and I'm much closer to BI, of course, but now I'm alone in Inchon. He'll be back briefly in January for a winter camp, though he's not sure exactly where. We will have to Noraebang.

We also have two new teachers, ZK and AH. The night I met ZK, I became aware of two things. One, he's almost certainly gay. Something in the mannerisms. And two, he's a total schmuck. Totally negative. The first words out of his mouth on seeing the apartment were, "It's so dirty." Even Mr. K had praised the cleanup job I did the night before. Mr. K!

In our first conversation two things stood out. For one thing, he claimed to know more about Korea than some Koreans do. When pressed for details, he explained that, for example, he knew where certain neighborhoods were that Koreans didn't. Like the area in Seoul famous for shady hagwans. He also asked if anyone at work was older than him. I said no, not after D and JL leave. I asked him why he wanted to know. "Oh, I like to be the most experienced person in the office," he replied. He was, in truth, a Korea veteran, having been back to the country five times. That, however was in two years. Apparently, the longest he'd maintained a contract was half a year. He's never finished his contract.

I lived with him for a week and took careful notes. What follows is a list of ZK's various outrages, atrocities, and crimes against humanity:

The second night I knew him, he asked to borrow $20. I politely refused.

He refused, REFUSED to take off his shoes, even though I'd asked him to.

He clogged the toilet and left me to clean it up. (I'm pretty sure it was just toilet paper he'd used
to blow his nose, but who knows?)

When I introduced him to some of my adorable eight year-old students, he asked, "Will these be my
students?" I said they wouldn't, and he walked right past them without even saying "Hi."

He threw a tantrum about the pension from the day he started work, even threatening to leave unless it
wasn't sorted out. I investigated it and managed to calm him down somewhat. He talked with J and
smoothed it over.

One day in the teacher's lounge he declared that he wanted to learn how to "paint like the greats."
He said he always knew he'd make a great artist. Even though he'd never tried.

JL and I took him out to the local Western bar. He got way too drunk, spat on the floor, and
threatened to steal a James Dean picture. (Gay hint? God, I hope not.) JL and I talked him out of
it.

He implied that he wanted to take my copy of "Nausea" with him when he left. I politely refused.

He follows astrology. Religiously.

This was all in the first week I met him. God. All that time I spent wishing to meet another gay person in Inchon, and the univese throws me THAT. Be careful what you wish for, indeed. Rod Serling would be proud.

We do have a new girl, and she seems ok, though I didn't have a chance to talke to her until yesterday (Monday). I spent a relatively uneventful weekend in Seoul, keeping BI company. He was sick, and had some appointments besides, most of which he shouldn't have gone to, because he was too sick. So, I made him as comfortable as I could, stayed out of his way when he asked me to, and generally worried about him. I stayed over on Sunday night, to apply for my visa on Monday morning, which went fairly smoothly. While he was attending to his appointments, I met with BD for coffee and conversation. It was a nice, relaxing time.

Anyway, AH is from Ireland, has red hair, and is a self-described "geek." We have a lot of topics of conversation in common -- she one day hopes to get a Masters in urban and regional planning, and is very progressive. (Although she's said she doesn't like movies. Who doesn't like movies?) She seems quirky, down to Earth, and intelligent. And she's a considerate houseguest, for once. I hope she turns out well. She knows JL vaguely, which can only be a good sign.

November Rain
The couple weeks since B.I.'s play have been relatively uneventful, at least until recently. Strange for the life pattern here. Two weekends ago, B.I. was in Hong Kong, so of course I went down to Itaewan. I met up with B.D. after my Korean class (V.A. was there, but J.I. wasn't), and we went out to the Pakistani place I'd been with the girls before. They had the same saucy waitress, the Korean girl with impeccable English. B.D. and I talked for something like 3 hours (including some time at the bars), again on every subject imaginable. It turns out he's planning to leave his current position, even though he loves the people there (since he's there illegally), and do a visa run to China. It all sounds dicey to me, but what do I know? Then we hit the bars, and of course, things got a little weird.

B.D. and I ended up mixing for a while with some Army dudes I'd met, including B. B.'s friend S., who I'd met the night I lost my shoes, frankly stated an interest in both of us. B.D. was noncommital, and so was I. Then B.D.'s friends arrived, some interesting guys, including a hagwan teacher, a military guy, and aa Korean college student, and introductions were made. I didn't get enough of a chance to talk with them, except the Korean guy (who was studying the Chinese language and culture), but they seemed nice and interesting enough. We went to the club a while, and when I came out, B.D. had opted for another's affections.

I ended up roaming the streets of Itaewan at 5:30 am, until Starbucks (God bless you, Starbucks!) opened at 7. I had my favorite, a caramel latte grande, but it didn't take, and I dozed upstairs for a few hours. I had an Americano Tall and hit the road again, taking the subway to City Hall, and ended up wandering through the Cheongyechun River, site of a celebrated restoration project. I was hoping to follow the newly restored stream to wherever the project ended, but gave up as I wandered to the edge of the subway map and discovered I quite desperately needed to use a toilet.

The next weekend, B.I. was back, so I of course saw him. We went out to eat and watched a movie, a decent gay melodrama whose name I can't quite remember. Same last weekend, that time a Hollywood blockbuster, "Flight Plan," with Jodi Foster, which I thought to be almost Hitchcockian in the way it built and held suspense. (Also a gay film, "Maurice," with a young Hugh Grant.) I still want to watch more Korean films with him, though. He's been doing fairly well, has been relaxing quite a bit. He had a great tour in Hong Kong, he said, and some Vegas people are interested in his show.

That Sunday, I also met up with J.I., one of the girls from my class. She's not doing too well in her hagwan. She feels the other people there don't like her much, and is considering leaving after half a year. I understand where she's coming from entirely, and commiserate, but I'm urging her to hang in. I think a part of the problem may be her own insecurity. We watched "Motorcycle Diaries" in a DVD Bang (Bang = Room) -- my first DVD Bang experience! I found the movie enchanting, and it left me thinking of Guatemala.

I have also ventured back to the Western bar near my apartment last Wednesday. I met D. from Ireland, A. from Britain, and M. from Canada. They were out for a pint, and we struck up a conversation. I found A. a bit acerbic, M. a bit garrulous, and D. really intelligent (and cute, though unfortunately straight). We talked about a lot of things, from politics to English to culture. D. had a Master's in Black American History, and doubtless knows more about my country's history than I do. He was really interesting, and we swapped phone numbers. I reappeared on Friday, sitting with a girl I had already met, and being reintroduced to two friends of J.L., E. and J., who seemed to have relationship issues. I also met a really cool art chick, R., who I clicked instantly with. There was also a wide and variegated crew, including a friend of A.'s from Atlanta who seemed a little pretentious. (For one thing, he claimed to be Jewish through a great-grandfather.) But interesting. In both instances, I used the diplomatic skills cultivated at work and had no more than 2 or 3 drinks the entire night.

Work has been ok, especially since M.'s lobotomy. I don't know what happened to the guy, but work has become a much more pleasant environment. Both he and K. are much more pleasant company at this point, and we all toss around idle banter. K. is also a good source of teaching tips. (She is a much better teacher than me, of course.) I might hang out with them outside of work too, sometimes, though I doubte we could ever be close friends.

The kids are sometimes wonderful, sometimes awful. I find I'm much better with the adolescents than the children. I do really well with my 8-9 year-olds, though I did have an awful incident a while back when I mistakenly punished a student for stealing. The poor kid, who was unpopular anyway, was in tears. My 10-11 year-olds don't like me, and my 7-8 year-olds expect more fun and games than I can muster. In that class, I had an incident recently where one little boy, D.Y., who's amazingly smart and better at English than some of my teenagers, was frustrated and in tears when another student took back some paper he thought was a gift. I had to treat the incident as one guy's word against the next, but really, given the other boy's lack of genuine repentance, I am convinced it was a trick. D.Y. is unpopular in that class, despite being very generous and helpful to the other students, both because of his intelligence and because of his tendency to tell on other kids (though both M. and I are trying to wean him of this habit). He's also frequently bored, because the class is too advanced for him. I definitely need some help with those kids.

And, oh yes, on top of all of that, J.'s father just died. Mr. K. reported this to us in the same breath as that the new calendars had arrived. Schmuck. So, she took the week off, during which time it's a miracle the office didn't literally burst into flames. I felt just awful for J. A lot of memories from my own mother's passing came flooding back. What an awful time for her. I just know, though, that when she comes back to work tommorrow, she'll try to go on with business as usual. She's a professional woman, no doubt. There's talk around the office of buying a gift card or flowers or taking her out to dinner. (I'd opt for the latter.) There's also speculation that, with her family commitment fulfilled, there will be nothing keeping her in Korea and she'll go back to New York. I certainly hope Mr. K. has a good replacement lined up, because J.'s the only thing keeping the office running and we all know it.

Which he might. To fill the gap, Mr. K. called up the woman he had hired to head up the Kindergarten program, E.B., a little early. She seemed nice enough, a Korean-American from New York (presumably we have a lot to talk about). She seemed a lot like June on the face of it, pretty, intelligent, good fashion sense. I hope she's ok to work with. Mr. K. also, just today, announced the imminent arrival of a new teacher, Z. from Canada, who might well be living with me. Nice to know.

Meanwhile, I haven't hung out with D. in the longest time, since he's strapped for cash and bogged down with his certification course. It now appears that he won't be able to finish it on time and go to the Middle East next year as he'd hoped. So, instead he'll go to China. Good luck and God speed. I hope we Noraebang again before he leaves. Also, I need a good picture.

I'm a little depressed tonight. Even though this is Thanksgiving, such a thing is not practiced in the R.O.K. (Republic of Korea, nimrods.) So, my Thanksgiving dinner tonight was eggs and mandu, which is Korean vegetable dumplings. And as a consolation prize, a huge bag of M&M's and some Bek Saeju for desert. B.I. has promised me turkey this weekend, though.

The Play's the Thing
Two Saturdays ago, I finally saw B.I.'s play and met his friends. The play, which was performed in Korean, but which I had read in English twice and knew almost by heart, was absolutely exquisite. It was a play about Ireland in the Great Depression (so of course it was uplifting and ended happily). It was about how a young boy's family was torn apart by poverty. During the monologue where the narrator reveals how his two aunts ran away to die in utter destitution, you could actually hear people in the audience crying. You had to think, this being Korea, many people must have stories just like this one. Powerful.

Actually, B.I. said he liked Irish plays precisely because of the resemblances between Ireland and Korea. I had never thought about it like that before, but I actually could see it. Both are newly developed after a long history of poverty; both have emerged from the shadow of a ruthless imperial neighbor. Moreover, this play, which won a number of awards, is very popular in many circles right now. I was cruising my alma mater's website shortly after watching it... and they were putting on the exact same production! And isn't it ironic... don't you think?

After the play, I met some of B.I.'s coterie. There was Z., a hagwan teacher I'd already met (I loved his sense of humor), a navy journalist and his wife, a young naval recruit, and a nomadic lawyer / jazz pianist. The doyenne of the group was a vivacious young woman who taught English at a major university and moonlighted in entertainment, where she said she hoped to end up. I had a chance to talk with each of them in turn, and enjoyed each conversation.

The academic lady, D., was really interesting, one of these flamboyant personalities who knows everybody. She had a fiancee who was in America getting medical treatment. She'd lived in Seoul for almost ten years, and came over to learn about the culture. She made very interesting conversation. (Unfortunately, she turned out to be a Republican and wear chinchilla.)

Z. was a hagwan instructor / artist, who I'd run into with B.I. previously, during a late-night gallery tour. He did interesting and exciting things in Seoul's aborning cultural life, and also had a plainspokenness and sardonic sense of humor I liked.

The navy journalist came across a little annoying at first, but was funny and engaging when you got to know him more. He was quite a movie buff, getting into a half-hour conversation with D. over "My Cousin Vinny," which I haven't seen for ages. His wife was a cute Korean girl with good English, who had worked as an elementary school art teacher and hoped to do so again. I really enjoyed speaking with her.

I'd already heard a lot about the navy guy, K. After my miscommunication about B.D., B.I., confessed he had feelings for the young man, who, to make matters worse, was married to a Korean woman. I think B.I. said this partly out of a genuine desire to share his feelings, partly to make me jealous. Also, I know he had told K. about my misadventure in Itaewan, the one where I lost my shoes. This was when he was really shocked at and disappointed in me, and needed advice. So, I wasn't quite sure how to approach the meeting, but it went pretty well, I thought.

K. was a nice guy, strikingly handsome, very intense. We hobknobbed about life in Korea, hangukmal (Korean-speaking, as my kids call it), computers, and his life with his Korean wife. B.I.'s plan to reveal his feelings to K. was dealt a minor setback when K. stood up in the middle of beer and announced that his wife was expecting. (What strange circumstances I find myself in.) I could see where the attraction was, though. In addition to being strikingly handsome, K. also gave off mild bi-curious vibes. When we were talking about movies, he expressed a certain admiration for Leonardo DiCaprio, saying, "I don't know, he just has this charisma. I want to be near him, I don't know if that sounds homosexual or not..." I assured him that it didn't, but thought, "Yeah, maybe a little." Who ever knows?

The lawyer was really interesting. He came from a Quaker family and had been travelling his entire life. He had never settled in one place before Korea, where he'd lived for 8 years and spoke the language fluently, though he didn't quite consider it home. (I asked him if anywhere was "home" for him and he said "No.") He did contract work for foreign companies, and played jazz and snorkeled in his free time. (He and D. talked a lot about snorkeling, a mutual passion.) He was a lifelong bachelor, not because he was gay, but just because he hadn't found the right person. He had just broken up with a long-term girlfriend, and was starting on another. He seems like a good guy to know, and a really fun guy to talk to.

It was a really good night. The next day, I met up with B.D. in Seoul, though of course I didn't tell B.I. I took him out to KFC, and we talked for hours, mostly on academic subjects. I almost missed my train. He's really smart, and I wonder why he didn't go to University. But he's definitely having a learning experience here in Korea.

Work has been going ok. Some classes are still better than others, but that's true for all the teachers. M. and K. have really chilled out. I think M. might have had a lobotomy. I have no idea what happened, but I like it. I even went out to dinner with them and out for drinks this past week. I hope we'll all be able to get along over the coming months, and it seems we shall. I just have to be diplomatic about it. Likewise with J. She can be selfish sometimes, and snap at you for things that either aren't your fault, or for which there are mitigating circumstances. The best way to handle those, I have found, is either to say nothing or to apologize and then explain what you need to do your job. And frankly, I have a tendency to be rude when I am stressed, which rubs her exactly the wrong way. I've told her that if I get like that, all she has to tell me is, "M.K., calm down." A secret code. J. is usually pretty good, and most people have much worse managers in their lifetimes. I hope to cultivate a comfortable professional relationship with her.

And Seeing That It Was a Soft October Night
What has been going on the past month?

Sorry for not updating recently. I have been preoccupied with grad school applications, which with some hiccups, have finally come off. And also blowing off steam from work.

That process took about two weeks to sort itself out. Those two weeks were spent largely in the pursuit of fun at Itaewan on Saturday night. Which was done to levels of excess that exceded my usual levels of excess. Long story short, I lost my shoes, and had to buy a new pair. No more excess, to excess.

I've also spent my time getting more into the groove of things at work. Dave has been a constant source of support. I find myself more on top of the paperwork, and getting along with my coworkers better. Even M. and K., who I still am leery of, I can be civil to and make small talk with, I find. "Smile and wave," D. says, and I do. They wouldn't be so bad without each other, I think, reinforcing each others' personality flaws.

It's uncertain whether D. or J.L. will be back, and right now it's not looking good. I shudder to think that M. and K. will soon become the most experienced people in the office. I will have to work assiduously to cultivate a good working relationship with J. She and I and D. have hung out on occasion, and I do enjoy her company, and I do think the feeling is mutual, as much as our professional relationship must impede a genuine friendship. There are still points of irritation, but nothing outstanding. I hope the new teachers don't suck too much. We were supposed to get a new guy a few weeks ago, but he canceled on the day he was supposed to come. Oh, well. Whole apartment to myself.

The kids are ok. Sometimes a pain in the ass, but I also find that some classes are really great -- almost invariably, the classes where I lay down the law. Classes where there's good discipline and a lot of work turn out well. Classes where you are too indulgent do not. And in some cases, the kids are just beastly, or a bad combination. What can you do? Plow through. God, how do some people spend a decade of their lives doing this?

The best feature of my life right now is my Saturdays. God, I love my Saturdays. I wake up, jog, head into Seoul. I have some Starbucks, study Korean, and go to my free Korean lesson at Sookmyung Womens' University. A brief sidenote -- Starbucks is like a joke in New York, there are some streets (you New Yorkers know where I mean) where one faces another on the opposite side. But here, in a country where even DUNKIN' DOUGHNUTS waters down their coffee, it's like a glimpse of heavan. Hook it to my veins!

The Korean lessons are fun and interesting. I've learned the alphabet, which is so laughably simple, I'm ashamed it took me so long. It's an almost completely phoenetic language, much more so than English. And I bought a book my instructor recommended me on Korean grammar, which I recently delved into.

I also met some interesting people there. There's V.A., who I met my first day, a brash young Cockneyish woman from England, and J.I., from Canada. She seems shy and plain at first, but has an inner strength and depth that I really admire. We had a great, long conversation in a Canadian bar in Itaewan.

So, I've hung out with them a bit after class. The only problem is, V.A. introduced me to her friend V.I., a fat loudmouth from Mississippi who, while a nice enough person, is also frequently annoying and emotionally unstable. At my last encounter, just this past Saturday, she spent half the night getting way too drunk and exclaiming loudly and to anyone who would listen that she needed "to get laid." She even started hitting on me. Then, after we moved to another bar, she burst into tears and moaned that she "wasn't this pathetic" and didn't "want to be a slut." Hmm. Big smiles, back away slowly.

As for things with B.I., for the first time I'm starting to worry. As I mentioned, after my disastrous weekend in Itaewan, which ended in a nasty hangover and the loss of my sneakers, BI took me to his place and helped me get back on my feet (literally). He also gently lectured me not to do that again. In addition to the fact that he's going a little nuts trying to throw a play together on top of his regular job, I suspect that, as an older Korean, he feels a certain avuncular responsibility. Confucianism at work.

B.I has been very busy with a pet project of his, a play that will premiere next weekend. I, of course, have been invited to attend, and to meet some of B.I.'s friends afterward. I've been really excited. Even though the play is in Korean, B.I. gave me an English translation of the play, so I pretty much know what to expect. It's really good too, really powerful.

But anyway, I spent the next two weekends with him, We've been out to the Seoul Symphony Orchestra, which I quite enjoyed, and to a Noraebang. Mostly we just watched movies and drink wine and tea. One weekend, the weekend before last, we actually did end up in a mixed bar in Itaewan with B.I.'s German business friend, an outrageous Falstaffian theater queen (not in the sense of being effeminate, more simply flamboyant), and some of his friends who were visiting Seoul.

They were great conversation, though I couldn't really keep up, and I suspect that my and his sense of humor worked at cross-purposes. Were we to travel in the same social circles, I would in all likelihood have ended up his Margaret Dumont. I also met Falstaff's young ward, a spritely German lad of 19 named B.D. who came to Korea to study its cinema. He already speaks better Korean than I do, though he is, in all fairness, enrolled in a rigorous professional course.

He was really interesting, and will be around for a couple of months, though unfortunately, since he isn't a native English speaker, and doesn't have a Bachelor's degree, he doesn't have a proper contract. Which can only mean he's in for trouble, since here they screw you even with one.

The problem came last weekend (the weekend of the bawling Mississipian), when I went out to Itaewan. (B.I. was busy with work.) I didn't actually go hog-wild that night, didn't even really get drunk. I just danced and kibbitzed. And then I turned around, and there was B.D., in the flesh. We talked for an hour and a half -- again, really interesting guy. And I told him about the play, and what a cool guy B.I. was, and if he had any problems with his workplace, B.I. might be able to help.

But when I told B.I. about it, he seemed very summary in his refusal. "I don't want him there." I said, "Oh, ok, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that without your permission." Which I really shouldn't have, I should have just kept my big mouth shut. At any rate, B.I. called back several hours later, after work, sounding a bit exhausted. He admitted that what I'd said had really taken him aback. "What do you mean?" I asked.

It turns out we had had a bit of a miscommunication. "TALKED with him, B.I. I said I TALKED with him for an hour and a half." B.I. also thought I had invited B.D. to the get-together after the play, which had never been my intention, though I should have been more clear about that. Still, I suspect that B.I. may be developing feelings for me. And though I care for the man deeply, I can't say I'm romantically in love with him. It could mean trouble. Which I don't want, nor do I want to inflict. Let's see how it plays out.

Drama, Drama, Drama
For those of you who've been wondering where I've been the past few weeks:

I've been growing a bit frustrated with my situation in Inchon. I don't like any of the people here. And by "any of the people," I mean the other Westerners.

They're boring. Most came here to pay off their student loans and extend their adolescence by a decade. They spend every night in the same bar, having the same conversation. I haven't met anyone too interesting, or reliable, except for D. Of course, there are no gay people here at all, who are known to me.

Most of the people I know or want to know are in Seoul, and I can only get in there on the weekends.

That's why, three Saturdays ago, when Poly had one of its Saturday workshops, I elected to meet up with B.I. instead. Although my contract says that I should attend the workshops, it also says I should be paid for overtime, so I used that as my loophole.

D. tried to convince me to go, but didn't say anything too convincing.

My approach, however, which I thought would be diplomatic, turned out to be anything but. Though I didn't really remember until about a week before I was supposed to go, I waited until after work on the Friday before to tell J., thinking that would be an opportune time.

She was actually pretty pissed. She tried to reason with me, but my mind was already made up, so she gave up and stormed off. I had a pretty good time with B.I.; we went to a student cultural festival, which was very colorful. But when I came back to work the next week, I got a frosty reception.

J.L. was less talkative than usual, and J. was all business. But M. and K. were downright creepy. Where before they had been friendly and helpful to the point of smarminess, now they refused to talk to me at all.

I talked with D. about it before class on Wednesday. "Is it just my imagination, or is everyone a little pissed at me for missing the conference?"

"Everyone's a little pissed." And he explained, a precis, his judgment of the situation.

I somehow got through the first three days without talking to anyone. After school on Wednesday, though, Michael finally snapped at me. "You should have been at that conference! It's in the contract!"

"No it isn't!"

"You're not a team player!"

This from a guy who assaults students and has a relationship with another teacher, which are both definitely prohibited by the contract.

I made it to the intersection across from the school, meaning to talk it over with D., but he was talking with a student. By that time, I nearly broke down.

So I ran. All around the neighborhood, before circling back to the apartment. So, I felt all right, even thought the situation seemed pretty hopeless. I actually sent an email to my i-to-i recruiter, asking if he could place me somewhere else in Korea.

Then D. called, and invited me out to a drink with his girlfriend and one of her friends, which I accepted. We went to the F. Bar, which is mostly Korean, and where I'd had mostly good experiences. (The lamps at the bar are shaped like phalluses. I'm not sure why, but it's cute.)

So we talked, sometimes as a group, sometimes me and him. I got a call from M.E., which was a great comfort. Then we all went to a noraebang. I sang some Metallica and Credence.

D. and I had a long talk. He helped me pick apart the situation in greater detail. He told me that the main thing you had to understand when a foreigner in another country was diplomacy. And that while I might have been right about the contract, I hadn't gauged peoples' reactions to it correctly. He told me that the situation could still be salvaged if I swallowed my pride and apologized to everyone.

So, the next day, I did. First to J., after telling her that D. had convinced me that I was wrong. She spoke with D. privately, and he told her much the same thing. Then the teachers, the secretaries, Mr. K., everyone. It was humiliating, but worth it.

The tension in the air was instantly dispelled, and everyone could breath again. J.L. and J. were more personable, and became gradually more so over the week. M. and K., though, went right back to being cheery and helpful, as if nothing had happened. M. even offered me a banana, and said, "No hard feelings," which D. later assured me was his version of an apology.

Creepy.

On Friday, J., D., J.S. and I all stepped out for a drink after work. (And the following Friday too.) I did value getting to know J. in a more informal capacity. She's not quite as imposing outside the workplace, though she still is very cagey, often answering questions with questions.

I was a bit guarded too, not talking too much about my personal life, which might be a liability, though I'm convinced J.'s social attitudes are those of a typical Western liberal. It was ok, we all had fun, though. She's selfish but also a basically cool and decent human being. Very veltlich, as J.L., with her conversational German, might put it.

The last few weeks have been up and down, what with report cards and tests to prepare. I've worked through it all, I'm happy to report, though the social situation out at Inchon still blows. Of course, I've taken the last two weekends to go wild in the city, which is an epic unto itself. I intend to get out to Seoul every weekend from now on, in fact -- except, of course, for the next teacher's workshop -- though I'm not sure that's enough to sustain me emotionally.

Actually, what I didn't realize before all this happened was that there are only two workshops a year, and they do directly impinge on my work as a teacher. There is useful information. The impression I'd had of them beforehand was that they were just Koreans socializing in Korean. But there are some important things that go on. And I do think it was selfish of me not to go, not because I was right or wrong about the contract -- Korean contracts are all in the interpretation anyway -- but because it affects more than just me. The other teachers, staff, students, Mr. K. If I have any objections, from now on I'll air them in public like J.L.

I'm not even sure why I decided not to go. It was mostly just feeling like Saturday was my one day of reprieve from the malaise of Inchon. Being told that it was "mandatory" when I wasn't being paid for the time also rubbed me the wrong way. I definitely should have gone. But I feel how I feel.

And I'm very satisfied with my decision not to get too close to M. and K. The pity is, whenever people would talk about them behind their backs, I would always defend them. Not anymore.

They're so creepy. I suspect that Michael was probably from one of those dysfunctional-but-caring families (S.O. discovered that his father was an alcoholic after taking him out for a drink the last time he yelled at a teacher). He claims to be from inner-city L.A., and I have no particular reason to doubt this. He was probably abused emotionally, and possibly physically, by the same people who taught him love and morality. So he can only vent his anger when he feels he's morally justified. So he looks for excuses to feel morally justified.

K. had a cop for a father (again, according to D. and S.O.) -- and we all know what retiring, laid-back people cops are. She's a classic codependent, stroking M.'s ego and telling him she's the only one who understands. Seems like she's trying to recreate a dysfunctional relationship with a man, with herself in a greater position of power. I suspect she'll probably earn herself another dysfunctional relationship for her efforts.

And her diatribes about how she was from "a working-class background."

Please. My uncle was on the NYPD for 40 years. Though he came from poverty, he had a comfortable middle-class salary, a house in the suburbs, and a generous pension. She's just trying to romanticize the fact that she didn't have the innate talent or initiative to take advantage of the opportunities society did afford her. And her relationship with M. is probably partly motivated by a desire to shock her parents by dating a Latino guy. (She had said in previous conversations they were a little quizzical.)

And they're both pathologically insecure about their intellectual attainments and social status. K.'s constant self-deprecating remarks, their constant talk about what friend or student is smarter. Shortly before all this happened I remember M. asking me one afternoon, "So, M.K., why does your college cost $32,000 a year?" They had actually gone online and researched my college!

Creepy.

So, they're both self-righteous hypocrites who were looking for an excuse to dislike me, and I handed it to them. This is exactly what D. meant when he said I had to be more diplomatic.

Again, I do feel in retrospect that I was being selfish, but if they had a problem with my behavior, they should have talked with me about it directly. I'm a reasonable person, and I do respond to criticism. I also wish J.L., of all people, had been more direct with her feelings. She is like my late mother in her willingness to be direct and confrontational, but unlike my mother, I suspect she does it in part out of insecurity. She's also a bit self-involved, though she has a lot more redeeming qualities than M. or K. D. maintains she'd have been a lot more friendly if I hadn't had that episode with her current boyfriend when I'd first arrived. Oh, well.

D., on the other hand, has proven to be a great friend, and a truly stand-up human being. For all his flaws, he's the person I trust most in Korea next to B.I. I just wish he'd try to teach me more about office politics and less about geopolitics!

Where I go from here, I'm not sure. Mostly I'll just escape into Seoul on the weekends, I suspect. It's only a year.

Oh, postscript: Just today, M. did it again. He hit a student, in a class I coteach with him, and the guy was crying in J.'s office. I heard him apologize to K. about it.

"It's ok," she said.

Phone Tag
Over the weekend I went down to Osan to get a phone, finally. I had sent an email to S.U., the older guy I met the previous weekend, saying (nonchalantly) maybe "we could all go for a drink." The idea being that it wasn't a date. And he did say later he'd invited some of the other guys we met, but they had other plans. So it was just the two of us. Whatever.

After hunting around a bit, I got a decent-looking phone for $60. Then S.U. took me out for dinner at a nice Thai place. I had the green curry, which was pretty good for the reasonable price. The waitress was really friendly and spoke decent English.

We walked around Osan for a bit, mostly just tacky shops and restaurants for the G.I.'s, like Itaewan. Then he invited me on base with him. (S.U. explained that where I was last time, an Army outfit, was technically called a "post." If it's the air force, it's a base. Huh.) We went to the mall in the base, where I got the first Reeses Pieces I'd had in months.

We also ran into a few of S.U.'s coworkers, a sort of unexpressive army dude and his vivacious Italian wife. S.U. talked with the husband, I talked with the wife. She was really interesting, and impressed by my knowledge of Italian geography. ("How do you know about Trieste?" she asked.) She was studying the law in college, and wanted to be a parole officer. He was also pursuing a business degree, and wanted to work either as a logistics C.O. (I'm not sure if that's exactly right) or as a manager in a big private company.

We went out for a drink at a local military bar. Some of the patrons were kind of mean-looking, but most seemed ok. We found a group of his coworkers (who were all already pretty soused), and S.U. ended up talking to one for half an hour about what a bastard the Lieutenant in charge was being. At one point he turned to me, this being the only thing he was to say to me all night, "See the look on his face. I know what you're thinking -- fuck the LT's!" I assured him that that was exactly what I was thinking.

So we left, and I said goodbye. S.U. suggested I take a taxi, because he didn't want me to be late for the train. Things hit kind of a snag then, because the driver, either because of our mispronunciation of "Songtang," or because he was out to swindle me, dropped me off at "Pyongtaek," which was even farther away from where I wanted to go. (How do you get "Pyongtaek" from "Songtang, anyway?!)

I was livid! A ride that should have taken 4 minutes and cost $2 took 15 minutes and cost $12. I stormed into the station, bought a ticket, and ended up on some kind of weird express train that took me, well, back toward Seoul very fast, but I didn't know where it stopped. So I got off at the first stop, which I was familiar with, to change to a local.

But there was nowhere to change to a local.

So, finally, in desperation, I took an elevator to I wasn't sure where, and sure enough, I ended up in the terminal -- outside the gate. I tried to re-enter the subway with my original ticket, but it wouldn't let me in. I was so stressed out and pissed off at this point, I actually, in a fit of spoiled pique, kicked the subway gate, hissing, "I already paid! I already paid!" NOT my finest moment.

I was careful not to take out my frustration on the young woman behind the counter, to whom I tried to explain my situation. Of course, she spoke not a word of English, and kept repeating inscrutably, "Check. Check." So I just gave up and bought another ticket. Fortunately, the tickets here are pretty cheap.

And I got home all right. Another crisis averted.

Sturm und Drang
I haven't written in a while, particularly about work. The reason for that is that work is INSANE. If it's not one thing, it's another.

Not the teaching. The teaching is going well. It's the paperwork. And not even the paperwork that I have to do, it's the paperwork that I need to do my job. The paperwork that says what book for what class at what time. I need to look at 5 different sheets of paper just to figure this out, it makes no sense. And the other teachers seem to be a little irritated by my lack of knowledge, perhaps forgetting what it was like for them just starting out. (D. being the exception.)

And there are different regimens for different periods. Once I got the hang of the day-to-day paperwork, there were tests to make and grade, and then there were report cards, and then the new semester began. And each had its own brand of irrationally-constructed Orwellian boilerplate.

At one point, I lost track of it entirely, and was about to be completely enraged -- and then I had an epiphany. Or maybe a minor nervous breakdown. And I figured, hey, this is actually... really funny. So I started chuckling. And then I could understand the paperwork, a little. And then a little more. And a little more. I think I may be on top of it now.

J. has seemed a little annoyed at me since I disciplined the adolescent girls in one of my problem classes. They held loud running conversations in Korean the entire class, talked back to me in Korean, and completely disrespected the school rules. So I told J. I would start handing out discipline sheets, which she probably thought would make more work for her. (In the event, it didn't, Mr. K. simply spoke to them harshly. 'Bout time he served a purpose.)

But she still needs to understand, I have to occassionally discipline students to maintain order in the classroom, or nothing will get done. I think I'll buy her a drink or something, when the opportunity presents itself. I'm not out to make her life harder, and in fact, I will need her help.

A note on J.S.: My roommate is seriously disturbed. Literally. He has emotional problems. They were probably caused by his totally fubar homelife, which apparently involved his deadbeat father making him sign over his paychecks, and even financial aid checks, to support their family. Which is why he ran off to Korea. Ultimately, what J.S. is at the age of 30, for whatever mixture of reasons, is a blubbering, pathetic wreck of a human being with monumental insecurities and childlike emotional responses he seems unaware it would even be advisable to control. And like many other emotionally disturbed people, he is also completely self-centered, believing his problems to result entirely from persecution by others, unable to bear even the slightest criticism, and incapable of self-awareness.

Exhibit A: One of my first experiences with him as a roommate involved him knocking on the door at 3 in the morning because he had forgot his key. I grouchily let him in, and stumbled back to bed, as he tried to launch into a lengthy explanation of the situation. "We'll talk about it in the morning," I growled. The next day, I apologized to him for being grouchy, which I thought understanable given the circumstances, told him I thought it was an accident, and requested that he simply take better care in the future.

His face twitched as he replied, "Well, I just really hate to be put in this kind of position. Where someone might talk behind my back about things like this at work." What kind of position, I thought to say, did I put YOU in? I barely knew the man, and he thought I was out to get him. Any normal person would have simply apologized for the mistake, accepted my apology for being curt and my admonition to remember their keys in the future, and that would be that. I might have vocalized this thought process had he persisted, but he didn't, so I diplomatically assured him that I had no intention of talking about him, and left it at that.

Exhibit B: I walked past him having a loud argument on the phone with a friend about his family situation. I was quick and quiet, and shut my door tightly. After his conversation, he knocked on my door and said he was sorry I had to hear that. Ok, fine. Again, a normal person would have left it at that. But then he started trying to explain his problems to me at length. I gave him some off-the-cuff advice, told him I was very busy, which was true, and shut the door quickly.

Creepy.

Fortunately, J.S. will move out sometime in the coming month to make way for the new teacher, who I hear is from Chicago and has experience teaching in Korea, plays hockey, is Polish-American, and shares my first name.

One lesson I take from living with J.S. is that insecure people, a group in which I have long claimed membership, can be extremely difficult to deal with. I don't think that I was ever quite as bad as him, and my insecurity seems to result more from over-selfconsciousness than the total lack of it, but it's still something I should try to improve about myself.

I am also getting to know D. a little better. He's been melancholy for the past week because of financial and romantic problems (he turned to me in a bar at one point, and actually said, "I'm all washed up"), but his spirits revived a bit after payday and after patching things up with his Korean girlfriend.

We had our first argument the other day. Not really a fight, it never went that far, though if we don't watch our mutual step, it might turn into a fight. We went out for barbequed pigskin at a place he fancied. I said I thought the food was good, but more of an "occasional" thing. (I didn't really like it that much; too gristly.)

At any rate, we got into an argument over geopolitics. In brief, I said that China wasn't yet a superpower, but would be in 30-50 years, which is the conventional wisdom on the subject. He kept insisting that population was the defining factor. (He also got on some weird tangent about how Britain was still a superpower because the pound was so strong, and how currency values determined a country's productive capabilities, which is flatly untrue, and a statement with which no economist of any stripe would agree.) When I pressed him for evidence, he cited a conversation he had had once with a Chinese guy.

"Oh, come on," I said.

"What you have to understand, stolenchild1981, is that at thirty I have more life experience than you," he explained.

Carefully tiptoeing around the word "pretentious," to which I am pleased to report I never made recourse, I suggested that perhaps one person's life experience didn't provide too much useful evidence in a conversation about global geopolitics.

"Yes it does," he remonstrated.

"But you're wrong!"

"No I'm not!"

We were both smiling when we said it, though, not shouting. I took the moment to go to the restroom, and he to call his girlfriend, and when I came back we changed the subject. The night ended on a positive note; no harm, no foul.

Still, there are clearly demarcated lines of tension. We're still friends, but I do think he's pretentious, and I suspect he thinks I'm arrogant. We'll just have to be very careful not to let acrimony get the best of us.

I haven't gotten to know M. or K. very well yet at all. That's partly for lack of conversation topics, and partly because I'm guarded around M. He's sullen and withdrawn, and I don't think he lets anyone inside his head except K. (And I'm not sure even of that.) He is also the proud owner of a hair-trigger temper, which he even brings to the classroom with him. We often hear him shouting at the students, and once I saw him grab a student by the arm and physically eject him from the classroom for talking back.

They're also hypocritical. M. more than K., but K. also in defense of M. I remember once K. talking about a teacher she knew who got fired for slapping a student. "Could you ever imagine hitting a student?" she asked, horrified. And then, not a week later, M. did practically the same thing! Also, M., who is Latino, is really paranoid about racial issues. (I think being in Korea might have exacerbated his paranoia.) We were eating in a restaurant with my insane roommate, and K. told me about how the first Jewish guy she'd ever met had been neurotic and insecure to the point of unbelievability. I concurred with her that one must always be careful never to judge an entire group by an experience with one person. For example, the one native Polish guy I'd met was a conceited moron.

And M. starts laying into me for making unfair generalizations about Polish people! As if I really believed that I could judge all Polish people by my experience with one. As if his girlfriend and I had not, the second previous, made that the very subject of our conversation!

Again, to be sure: M. and K. are both good people, even friendly people. They've helped me a lot, though part of the motivation is doubtless the fact that they feel they were not adequately helped when they first arrived at the school. I don't really know or trust M. that well at all, though. He's angry and unstable. That's why, despite some repeated low-key hints that they suspect I'm gay, and that they're fine with it, I haven't told them.

I'm still working on J.L. She knows I'm gay. As I suspected, didn't bat an eye. I knew she'd be cool with it, since she always talks about her lesbian sister (who's an accomplished poet). She seems like a really interesting lady, and I would like to know her better. But she's also very guarded around people, so it will be a process. (I've heard from D. that she was dumped by her fiancee, which might go a ways to explaining it.) I'll play along. It seems worth the investment.

All Your Base Are Belong To Us
The next day, I lit out for Itaewon, where I was to meet up with one of the guys I met at the club the previous Saturday. I arrived very early, though, determined to hunt around for a reasonably-priced cell phone. (Ha!) On the way, who should I run into but D.N., trying to walk off a hangover. I gave him company until we met up with his buddies. This merry band included not only the inevitable J.B., but also, imagine my surprise, B. (the soldier I had met several weeks ago) and some of his compatriots. One was an older gay guy who was in the military. Surprisingly, since he had a distinct femininity about him, but people are complex that way. Another was a pudgy tech geek sort in a black t-shirt with a white cartoony skull on the front.

D.N. decided he'd had enough adventure (no one had slept since partying the night before, of course) and hopped the subway. The rest of us hopped in a car to -- where were we going again?

"The base," replied B. Naturally.

Now, I don't know how "don't ask, don't tell" works, but I was sort of under the impression that one doesn't typically bring one's homosexual drinking buddies onto base. I have apparently been grossly misinformed. So we drove to a base in Yongsan, right down the road (though it took 20 minutes with Korean traffic and urban planning patterns), and kibbitzed. The tech geek guy was kind of sarcastic, but funny, and we all had some pleasant small talk. Along the way, we passed the Korean War Museum, which I want to go to sometime.

We pulled into camp, and had to surrender our alien registration cards at a certain building. (The base was joint R.O.K. / American, and the guards behind the counter were both Korean. (Their rations are apparently something like fish-head soup, which is why R.O.K. guys are so skinny, I was later informed.) Then we drove to the Navy restaurant on another part of base, which was where the only decent food was, or so the rumor had it.

If the rumor is not lying, I pity our fine servicemen. The pancakes were dry and chewy, and the syrup was essentially carmelized sugar. Oh well.

I endured a couple of cracks about my "Pirates of the Carribbean" t-shirt. "Arr, matey," went the tech-geek.

"Excuse me, who were you again? Jimbo Jones?" I retorted.

In the middle of brunch, B. got a call on his cell from a soldier who was described as a "huge and scary" Southerner. He said the guy was coming over to meet us.

"This is a good idea, why?" I asked.

"Oh, don't worry," B. reassured me, "he likes English teachers."

"You mean, to hunt for sport?"

The guy actually did come over to the table. He was, indeed, a huge, scary redneck, cowboy hat and all. Had a strangely curved nose. Seemed nice enough from the handshake, but he didn't stay and talk.

"Is he Jewish?" I asked, after he left.

This garnered a spattering of laughter. "No, he's just had his nose reset a couple of times," B. explained.

"Ah."

"I'm telling him you said that, though."

"You wouldn't dare."

The next stop on our tour of the magical land of Oz was the duty-free shop, where I bought a copy of "Foreign Affairs" magazine. Then we all headed back to Itaewan.

We took two cars, B. and J.B. and Jimbo in one car, and the older guy, S.U., and me in another. I was really interested getting his story. He had been married and had two kids before coming out of the closet. His wife didn't believe that he was gay, until his boyfriend told her. So they separated, for the most part civilly, though his wife doesn't like him having his boyfriend around the kids.

The kids, on the other hand, seemed to be fine with his boyfriend. (They broke up a year ago, when the other guy was transferred to Germany.) Although his daughter apparently is a converted Baptist.

"I don't approve of her choice of lifestyle," I said cautiously.

He laughed. "Yeah, she doesn't approve of mine, and I don't approve of hers."

But they still loved each other. The girl was 17 and was studying to be a social worker. The boy was 14, a good student.

He also tried to help me find a phone, but I found none with the right specifications at the right price. He said they had some better deals in the town they were going to, about an hour south of Seoul, but it would have taken too long, and I had to meet up with my Korean acquaintance. So we exchanged email addresses, and said goodbye.

The Korean guy, J.S., was cute and funny. He had a very expressive face, with mannerisms that were quirky, but not obnoxious. J.S. worked for a major Korean firm, though a conservative one. (He had died his hair brown when last I saw him, and they made him dye it black again. Wow, brown hair, wild!) He was definitely not out to his family. His English is conversational, though (despite having had 2 Western boyfriends and spending some time in Australia, which doesn't fill me with much hope of learning even basic Hangul myself) and I found us hunting around for conversation topics by the end of the night. He bought me dinner -- a quite wonderful dinner, at that -- and I have promised to reciprocate, though I'm not sure how enduring a friendship we can forge.

I guess we'll just have to see.

Evening at the Theater
On Friday, nothing too unusual. Out drinking with D. He's very confused about his life, and depressed. He'll work through it, I believe. He's just celebrating his mid-life crisis kind of early. Plus, he's a nice guy and typically fun to be around.

On Saturday, I woke up surprisingly early and went to visit B.I. He was just back from his trip to Seattle and Vancouver. He loved the trip and found it very relaxing. He also loves the area. He met up with his boyfriend of many years -- an older American man he had met in college. (We had discussed all this last time, though I may have forgot to mention it.) They have a very serious long-term relationship, although his boyfriend's age is very advanced at this point, and they live across an ocean and a day from one another. B.I. was of course invited to leave with him, and actually tried for a time, but his career and all his friends were in Korea. So they had to part, though emotionally, they're still very much together.

We met up around Itaewon, and I took us out to dinner. It was at an Italian chain restaurant, apparently pretty popular in Korea, though with no locations in Inchon. I found it tasty, for the price. (I think the reason B.I. asked that I reciprocate for the last time is partly Korean manners, partly to verify that I'm not just using him for his money. Which, of course, I'm not, and have no desire for such a relationship. I think the pattern we're getting into is, we both take turns picking up the tab, though he throws in more on average than me. Which I suppose is fair, since he has more accumulated by now than I. Money is always an issue in human relationships, and has to be accounted for.) Then he took me out to his show.

It was essentially a Korean "Stomp," with characters using unlikely objects for percussion and dancing about hyperkinetically. It was a lot of fun, though I think it was a bit overlong. (An hour and a half. But then, I got in for free, having an inside connection, so I don't know what the ticket price was. Maybe people expect a certain time for their money.) Still, great fun! Afterward, I got the players' autographs.

B.I. is such fun to be around. He has a great charisma and energy, and always has something to talk about. I find we often discuss film and theater, of course. He's very intelligent, and I saw he had a well-leafed copy of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" with him, which he offered to lend me. (I declined, as I am in the middle of a weighty tome of Korean intellectual history, and trying to learn conversational Korean at the same time.) I'd love to talk more with him about poetry and literature.

Whatever Happened to Saturday Night
I emailed this guy I met online, D.H., and he gave me his phone number. I told him I'd be in Seoul on Saturday, and I'd give him a call.

My original intention was to do a walking tour of Seoul, but I got up late, and arrived late, and it turned out that you need a phone reservation anyway. So instead, I walked around the Korean Folk Museum at Gyeongbokgung Palace. They gave me a little audio player and I went from exhibit to exhibit, absorbing as much as I could. I actually did learn a lot about Korean culture and history, and the palace was excruciatingly beautiful. It was a sprawling grounds, with enormous red-shingled buildings nestled in the foothills of Seoul's modest mountains. I stayed for 2 and a half hours, and had enormous fun, though it would have been nice to have someone to share it with.

Afterward, I called D.H. and met up with him at City Hall at 8:30. The hall was draped in Korean flags from Independence Day, and there was some kind of strange festivity wrapping up, which I suspect was a Christian rock concert. (Moonies? I should have asked him. Oh well.) D.H. was nice enough, though I wasn't quite sure we connected. Partly it was the language barrier, though his English was quite good. He'd lived for a year in Canada, and had dated some Canadians and Americans. Partly he just seemed reserved, though not to the point of being aloof or shy. And we didn't have too many awkward pauses or anything. Maybe it will be easier the next time.

At any rate, he suggested we go out to Itaewan. Given my druthers, I would rather have gone out to the University, which was more of a "hip, progressive" area, as he described it. But he wanted to introduce me to some friends and the gay scene. I remembered the area from my encounter with the Army dude. A long hill ascending toward a cheap motel. Perfect microcosm for Itaewan. (I was wearing my "Pirates of the Caribbean" t-shirt, and was a little afraid that I'd get jumped by some army guy, though D.H. assured me it never happened. One tough-looking black guy did mutter, "Pardon me ma'am," as I brushed by him, but that was all.)

What I didn't see last time (the bar we were at was tucked away in a hidden corner of Itaewan, sort of a low-key wine place), was the thriving gay night life. We stopped off at a bar called Queen, filled with Koreans and butch Army guys, and continued our conversation. Again, a little disjointed, but not awful. He said he was only having one drink, and would have to pack it in early, though I could stay if I wanted. (The trains stop running around 11, for some Godforsaken reason.) I'm not sure if it was a blow-off or he really had plans, but he has emailed me since.

After leaving that place, we met up some friends of his at a dingier bar next door. They were Canadians, J.B. and D.N., who unlike a certain Welshman, were rather taken with my sarcasm, and my political observations. ("Are you sure you're not Canadian?" they jibed.) And so, after D.H. excused himself, I decided I was in for the night. So we kibitzed and bar-hopped. I got to know them a bit. J.B. was a Quebecois, who didn't learn English until he was ten, though spoke it impeccably. He had been raised as a conservative Catholic, but went to a progressive Catholic high school. They had met at college in Montreal, studied the same weird drama and literary shit that I did, and came over to Korea together.

J.B. was cute, but freaked me out a little, mostly through his resemblance to my ex. (That relationship ended badly.) It was freaky, he looked exactly like him. Tall, thin, largish nose. And D.N. was short, had spiky hair and a definite punk image going. Punk Frodo. He was flamboyant and cute, without being queeny. Eventually, we moved on to the club across the street -- but not before taking a detour into the world of cash machines.

I had somehow run out of money, and the trains had already stopped running. (I had just enough for train fare, and not quite enough to make it into the club.) And J.B. needed some too. So we tried the 7-11. No luck. We tried the bank. Closed. (Even the ATM's? No fair!) Finally, someone suggested the ATM at the subway station, which was open all night.

I tried unsuccessfully a couple of times, as did J.B. We were on the verge of giving up, when this Army kid who looked all of 18, cute in a fascist kind of way, walked up and used it with no problem. We asked him how he had done it, and he explained in a thick Southern drawl. My mistake was hitting "savings" when I should have hit "checking." Debit card, right. Duh. I thanked him profusely.

"Hey, sure. You guys seem all right. You should come down to the restaurant, it's a steak place, and they've got good beer and these hot Korean chicks." Where was it, we asked. "Oh, it's right next to this Indian place, only I don't eat Indian food here, on account of the last time I did I had the shits for 2 months. And it's also right next to this Arab place, only I don't eat Arab food, I'm Army, I kill those people, I won't eat their food!" No kidding. But he was so innocent and stupid when he said it, it was hard to be too mad at him. Cute, in a fascist way. We assured him we'd check it out.

I felt pretty awful, though. There were a couple of homeless guys camped out in the station for the night (including one guy who had somehow picked up a few words of English), and here I was, frustrated that I couldn't get $30 to party. If I'd had any singles, I would have thrown it his way. It made my mood a bit somber for the next 15 minutes, and I wondered if I'd be able to do any volunteer work. Not until my Hangul is better, at any rate. Or maybe I should walk around with some trail mix to give to them, so I won't subsidize someone's addiction. Definitely that, at least, when my financial situation is a bit more secure.

J.B. had no luck getting the ATM to accept his card, so we went back to 7-11. They had no luck there the second time either (I bought a sandwich, which hit the spot), but we met a cool fag-hag type girl, A., who tried to give us some pointers. She was from Minnesota, into theater, and we hit it off right away. So we brought her to the club with us.

So I danced, and partied, and made out a little, with the guys and A. There were pretty Korean boys, and pretty Western boys, and Army men. The sleazy bartender from the other night was there. Till the wee small hours of the morning, when everyone packed up and went home. J.B. rode off on the back of the sleazy bartender's motorcycle, and I split after 10 minutes, but met up with them again at the train station. And we rode back, into the welcoming arms of the new day.

I finally threw myself into bed at 8:30am. Exhausted, but exhilarated.

About the club, what more need be said? It was packed with adorable men

Friday Night
On Friday night, I was sitting at home chatting with M.E., thinking I was never going to have a social life here, and that I'd freaked D. out with my weird altercation with the Welsh guy. Then there was a knock on the door.

D. and I went out for a few beers at a local bar (a different one than last time). We talked about the situation with the Welsh guy (he and Jolene were at the usual haunt, so we planned to drop in later), about D.'s tortuous relationship with Korea, and his past and background. His father is a mechanical engineer, his mother designs flowers for weddings. He loves and admires her more than any other person in the world, he says, because she's kind and emotional, the life of the party, but also unabashed about standing up for herself. I told him some of my life story too, but he did most of the talking.

And we discussed the office polititcs. I'd already pieced together an idea of what the situation was from various conversations, but D. laid it all out to me (from his point of view, anyway). M. and K. had arrived when the other teachers were J., S.O., D., and my predecessor. They didn't receive much attention or assistance from the other teachers, something D. himself had to admit. At one point, M. actually snapped at my predecessor -- who was a professional hockey player, and had at least 40 lbs. on him -- yelling at him for not helping them. (Which probably explains why they've gone out of their way to help me, something I'm extremely grateful for.)

D. doesn't really like M. and K. Especially M. He thinks they're decent enough people, but M. creeps him out. He strikes D. as being childish, sullen, and tempermental. Which I have to admit, I've seen some evidence for. He sees their relationship as being an unhealthy codependency; and again, I sometimes wonder what K. sees in M. Possibly there is some side to him I keep missing. He also thinks they're too publicly affectionate, which I haven't seen too much evidence for, and I think may be a projection of D.'s own insecurities about his romantic life.

Which he has in spades. He kept checking his phone for a message from his Korean girlfriend. The one who barely speaks English. "I think she's seeing a Korean guy," he kept muttering. "I think she's got a Korean boyfriend. A lot of girls here do that, have a Western boyfriend and a Korean boyfriend." I asked him what his grounds were, and he said, "She promised to call me tonight, and she didn't. She's never done that before." In the three weeks they'd been dating. I tried, as diplomatically as I could, to suggest that there might simply have been some emergency and that he shouldn't jump to conclusions. At least wait until she made a pattern of it before condemning her. But he still worried.

A decided whiff of desperation.

Then, when we were in the middle of our second drink, he turned to me and asked me if I was gay. I was somewhat taken aback, not least since I was about to tell him as much. Apparently S.O. had leaked it to him before he left, the bastard. I think he set out to do as much damage as possible beforehand, though D. doesn't think he told anyone else. "Yes," I replied, and we talked about it. He was cool with it, as I suspected, and it opened up a new topic of conversation.

After that, we headed over to the usual bar, where J.L. and her new boyfriend were. I took the opportunity to offer a sincere apology, and to my surprise, he returned it. That was classy. My respect for the Welsh guy has gone up several notches. And the situation has been diffused. Hallelujah.

We should probably have called it a night, but D. wanted one more, and had to borrow some money from me to do it. (I said I was good.) We went into a little bar I'd never gone to before, and D. got into a fight with the bartender, a Russian lady. Not a physical altercation, of course, just a heated argument. D. called her a "stupid whore" and we stormed out. (I paid, of course.) Apparently, the last time he'd been in there was with some asshole named Rob, who started a fight with him, then apologized and promised to pay. But he told the bartender that D. had left without paying. Or at least that was his version of events, and from everything I've seen of him so far, he deserves the benefit of the doubt. He was pretty pissed, though.

How embarrassing for him. Oh, well. People do some stupid things when they're drunk.

Issues
My first serious problem with Mr. K. has been developing over the course of this week. I was told, when I signed on for this gig in the U.S., that I would have to mail my college diploma to these people I didn't know from a hole in the wall in Korea, but that I would get it back when I arrived. I was leery, but figured it was worth it for the opportunity. Mr. K. was not immediately forthcoming, but I kept forgetting, somehow, and I figured he'd done the same. Big whup.

But then, when S.O. didn't come back, he announced that he was going to keep my diploma until a month before I left.

NO.

A world of NO.

Last night, when J. said that she'd talked to Mr. K. about it and he still was adamant, I was pretty pissed off. But I didn't want to force a confrontation in that state without considering my approach. I met up with M. and K. after work, and they assured me it was par for the course in Korea.

"Yeah," said K., "he's still got ours. We intend to stay for the whole year, so it doesn't bother us too much."

I told them I intended to stay for a year too, that I WANTED to stay, but, and I know this is an asshole thing to say, but I had to say it anyway... It's the principle of the thing.

"You came to the wrong place for principle, buddy," observed M.

On reflection, though, I realized two things: one, whatever I was getting from Mr. K., J. and the secretaries were likely getting a lot worse. And two, hey, I came here to experience a different culture. And this was it.

So, I planned simply to insist on my diploma back, politely but quite firmly. And if he didn't budge, I'd email my recruiter from my training company.

Of course, it also helped matters that M. and K. decided they would go with me to get theirs back as well the next day. We approached Mr. K. after class, and he smiled and said, "Ok, tommorrow." Which works for me -- if it's not too good to be true.

On my new roommate, J.S.: He showed up Saturday, the day after my almost-fight with the Welshman, and I was on the tail end of a hangover and a nasty depression. I was also in the middle of moving into S.O.'s room, and had to finish immediately. So, while I was polite, I didn't make much conversation, and we only had like 2 more brief ones after that. I had heard around the office that he was a weird guy, but when I pressed for details, people only said that he had kind of a quirky personality, but was basically a decent guy. The issue for them was: 1) they thought he was a bad teacher, and 2) he had had some kind of weird screaming fight with Mr. K. before he left, and no one understood what it was about... and now he was back. They were perplexed.

So, I didn't see him for a couple of days, and then yesterday he invited me out for a few beers and some fried pork, which I thought was cool of him. We swapped the outlines of our life stories. J.S. was born in Korea, raised in California, and spoke some conversational Korean. (Could be useful.)

His issue with Mr. K. was as followed: His roommmate, a teacher before my time, and he had not gotten along. (He described his roommate as a "gay loner," but I couldn't quite manipulate the conversation into asking him if he had a problem with gay people without sounding too conspicuous, so that's something to watch.) He had been working really hard, he said, and had been stressed, and reacted "strongly" (hmm) to a letter from a friend back home who said his stint in Korea was a regression into childhood, and he was acting like a child, and he should come back to America and rejoin their church. (Which denomination, I didn't catch.) So his roommate requested for him to be transfered.

And so he was, to a roach infested basement room in some tenement somewhere. He began sending out resumes, but put the Poly school phone number on it as a reference. Apparently, when Mr. K. got a call from another hagwan (English school) on his cell phone while driving, from someone asking for a recommendation for J.S., he "nearly caused an accident." Hence the screaming match.

I politely asked him if he thought that perhaps he should have told people he was sending out resumes if he were going to take the risk of putting the school phone number on his resume, but apparently he hadn't. Hmm.

We also talked about the school, and the work, and my complaints with the curriculum and the paperwork, both of which he's currently involved in organizing (taking over for S.O., who couldn't organize a deck of cards). I shared some ideas with him, and he seems interested. So maybe I can help simplify the paperwork situation at the school, which I'm told, again, is really not so bad, comparatively speaking.

Unfortunately, he's picked up on the cool reception his coworkers have given him, and I tried to reassure(somewhat disingenuously) that, while I wasn't really privy to their thoughts, that I'm sure it was just perplexity with the situaton, and would require time. I don't really know. My concern is that, since he feels ostracized from the rest of the teachers, he might attempt to solicit a friendship with me -- which is only a concern because what I've heard, and noticed, about his personality quirks, makes me wonder how well we'll get along. (Notice all my "hmm's.") Probably we won't have any problems, especially since he's probably only going to be living here a month. In theory.

One last ironic twist of fate: apparently, the Welsh guy is J.L.'s new beau. I live in a soap opera.

The World Keeps Turning
I didn't see D. again until work today. He says his perception of what happened was that I said something intended as sarcasm, and the other guy took it the wrong way. J.L. added that the Welsh guy had his own history of doing dumb things while drunk, and D. maintains that the situation is far from irremediable. So I'll apologize, and hope that we can at least be civil to one another.

Sunday, M. and K. knocked on my door while I was in the shower. I rushed out, found no one there, and poked my head out the window. They invited me to Bupyeong on an errand, and I agreed. The trip itself was uneventful, but I did get to talk with and spend time with K. and M. As I suspected, they seem like pretty straightforward people, not too hard to figure out. K. is sweet and sarcastic and friendly; M. is a little sullen and withdrawn, but a pretty nice guy if kept at an appropriate length. I think D.'s assessment of him to likely be correct: a bit of an overgrown child who can nonetheless be counted on to do the right thing. I think he may just be clinically depressed. His company is not wholly unpleasant, though; Goddess knows, I share some of the same character traits.

Yesterday was Monday, of course, but also National Liberation Day (from Japan, those "monkeys"), so I got the day off. I used it to meet up with an American GI stationed in Seoul who I had met in the gay chatroom in front of a Burger King in Itaewon. He was very interesting in online conversation, able to bullshit about politics and philosophy. We went out for dinner at a nice American restaurant. I had a juicy, chain restaurant-quality burger, cooked medium rare and still juicy with blood from the hecatomb. Praise Olympus. Then we went out to a bar run by a good-looking gay Korean (whose name currently escapes me). He was in his 40s but looked like he was in his 30s, well-muscled, an admitted drug dealer. He was kind of a sleazebag, but made interesting conversation. He had allegedly been around the world, and spoke multiple languages. I don't know the truth of it, but his English was impressive.

I did find out a little bit about the Air Force dude's (a beefy redneck from Arkansas) personal history. He had been a football player in high school and dated another football player when he was 16, and progressed from there. It's always interesting hearing about other gay guys' experiences, especially when they fundamentally differ from my own. Again, he seemed really interesting online, but as it happened, I did most of the talking that night. In all, I found it hard to gauge his response, and he seemed guarded. Which makes me wonder if I really made a good impression, or if he's worth making a good impression on. We'll see.

I slept till noon, and then rushed out the door to get my immigrant registry card. The card itself was no problem, I just played the dumb foreigner, walked up to a desk, and presented my receipt. In and out in under 60 seconds. But the car rides were long and fairly costly (though not by New York standards). And I did get to school in time to prepare. The first couple classes were like pulling teeth. Everyone was tired coming back from break. So I broke early to play some games. (In the second-period problem class, I played the game first to break them in.) So far, so good.

I had another talk with J. walking back from school. She really is a remarkable woman. She's young and very pretty, always fashionably dressed, and a talented teacher and administrator, from what I've seen so far. She told me a bit more about her history. She'd been in New York for a couple of years, and loved it there. She loved the freedom, the cosmopolitan atmosphere, the diversity.

"Why did you move back?" I asked. "Do you feel more of a sense of belonging in Korea?"

"Actually, I don't feel like I entirely connect with them. Like I sometimes don't understand what people are saying when they talk to me." In fact, she had been in Korea for much longer than she had planned, because of family commitments. Her father was ill, dying. She said she didn't know when he will go, only that he would. I shared some of my feelings about my mother's passing. It turned out that her mother had died too, suddenly, in a car accident. But she felt like she had taken strength from adversity. The important thing was not to become depressed, or worse, turn into an asshole and take it out on others.

You do meet interesting people.

The Whole Problem With This Place
Yesterday was a disaster, and the disaster is, upon reflection, much bigger than yesterday.

I went to school well-rested and with a huge smile on my face. I was upbeat, optimistic, feeling good, and ready to teach. Then Mr. K. pulled me out of my second period class, the monster class -- leaving the likes of J.H. and M.C. unattended! -- so I could talk to some nice men from Immigration. It seems I had forgotten to pick up my alien registration card on Tuesday, and I didn't have any documentation handy. They asked to see my receipt from the Immigration Office, and of course I had that at home, safely tucked away in a folder with the rest of my important papers.

"You have to have your receipt with you at all times," Mr. K. exclaimed.

"Nobody told me," I replied, which seemed like a perfectly reasonable take on the situation. (You'd think an Immigration Office would have at least 1 person who spoke SOME English?)

Everyone assured me that it wasn't really a problem, and all I really had to do was fill out a form. After work, the Immigration officials showed up again. "See, you're fine," M. explained. "They're here at 9:30 at night, and work stops at 6 here. I think it's pretty obvious what's going on."

"What is going on?" I asked, for clarification's sake, though I had an idea."

"Someone's palm is getting greased."

After work, D., M., K. and I all went out to a Korean bar to meet up with some Korean friends of D.'s. They were 20somethings, male and female, recent college graduates, siblings. They studied English professionally, and spoke it well enough to have a conversation, though some of the better students at Poly are still more fluent. Well, they have the grammar and a solid foundation of vocabulary; as I explained to the brother (who I was sitting next to, and who did most of the talking), all they really needed was a few months in an English-speaking country to get fluent.

We drank soju, ate some delicious kimchi and chicken wings (ha), talked about literature (the sister loved Shakespeare, the brother Fitzgerald), Korean culture and history, our backgrounds, Jewish people. They were some of the nicest and most interesting people I've met so far. We went out to the noraebang, and expressed ourselves through song. D. and I sang "Billie Jean," and the Koreans covered some Neil Diamond hits. We all parted on good terms.

If the night had ended there, it would have been great. But I insisted we pop into the Western bar for "one" more. I wanted a mai thai, dammit.

While there, we met some interesting people, including a nerdy guy from upstate New York (who looked Jewish, but wasn't), and two young women from Nova Scotia who made good conversation. I ended up sitting next to this Welsh guy who had gone to art school. He was a moody fuck, and got moodier as the night went on. (He had a friend who I'm pretty sure is gay, but he got tired and packed it in early.)

The rest of the time in the Western bar was fine, we chit-chatted. I ended up having both a mai thai and a long island iced tea. I should have quit while I was ahead. Then we decided to head over to the Pink Bar, for some reason. I don't know why this happened, but the Welsh guy got testier and testier. Belligerent drunk. We ended up in this passive-aggressive holding pattern, in which he'd make some remark about me being a "pansy" or "smug," and I'd reply with a smile and some kind of glib remark.

I recall D. informing me later in the night that I'd said something horribly offensive toward Celtic people, and I do have a vague memory of doing this, though I honestly can't recall what I said. Yes, it was really that bad. Even if this guy was a prick, even if I was absolutely hammered, there is absolutely no excuse for demeaning someone on account of ethnicity, religion, or nationality. Ever. I am so ashamed of myself. I think I said it just to piss him off, because he was pissing me off. Whatever the reason, I feel like an asshole.

Anyway, that would probably account for some of this guy's hostility toward me, which he finally could not contain. (I think he was just generally hostile anyway. At least, that's the impression of him I got earlier on in the night.) "If you're going to take this attitude," he shouted, "the best thing you can do right now is just pay your bill and get out!" Or something to that effect.

D. tried to intervene, saying that we were both nice guys and we shouldn't walk away hating each other. But the look on the Welsh guy's face said otherwise. "Nah, this is fucked," I said, and gathered myself.

"Wow, you really hate me, don't you? Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Here's 10,000. If that doesn't cover it, I'll gladly give you more. You really need to chill out." And I walked out the door with the tattered shreds of my dignity wrapped around me like a cloak.

I conked right out, and of course, woke up this morning with a hangover. Though a relatively mild one. No sickness, just a roaring headache and depression that followed me around like a little storm cloud even after the other symptoms vanished.

In analysis, several things became clear. The first was that my behavior, provoked or not, was absolutely inexcusable. Just thinking about it makes me a little nauseous, and not from the hangover. There's no excuse, and I think I owe the guy an apology, and he me. Not because I like him, and still want to be friends; it's too late for that, even if I didn't think the guy was a prick. But it's the right thing to do, and besides, we're bound to run into each other in one of these bars again. We'll have to work out some way to peacefully coexist. But I'm equally convinced that whatever apology I attempt to give will probably not be accepted.

I also reflected on my own history with alcohol. In small quantities, alcohol removes some of my nervousness in social situations, especially around new people. It certainly helped the last two nights. But when I drink to excess, the best that happens is that everyone around me is equally crazed, and so my behavior melts into relative normalcy. But I have a history of saying stupid, offensive things while plastered, which has actually ruined a few friendships.

I don't enjoy being that drunk. I don't like myself in that condition. It's not me. It screws up my life, and makes me act like a creep. I really have to resolve to be extremely careful and abstemious when drinking from now on. Maybe give it up entirely, if it's too big a problem.

But that will limit my social time with D., who does nothing but. Not to mention most of the other Westerners I've met here. And frankly, though I want to make more friends at work, and D.'s the guy I know best, this simply isn't how I want to spend my time here. I came here to experience another culture, not to party. But that simply underscores my total aloneness here. I can't really relate to the other Westerners who I've met, who seem to have come either to pay off student loans, party, score Korean chicks, or out of some identity crisis, and usually all of the above. Many of them don't seem to like it here. Or anywhere. (D. made a very revealing comment to this effect the other night.) On the other hand, I am severed from the Koreans by the barriers of language and culture, as well as the embedded clannishness of the Korean people, which sometimes manifests as crude xenophobia.

In fact, I think the only person I've met so far I can really say I related to was the older gay Korean man, B.K., who's out of the country on business this weekend. I found myself deeply depressed and feeling sorry I had left New York.

And then in walked the roommate Mr. K. didn't mention was coming. More on that situation later.

So, after finally moving all my crap into the big room, I decided to take refuge in a Hollywood movie. I was eager to try out the local multiplex, and so I got a ticket to the new penguin film. Which was dubbed, not subtitled. So they graciously let me into the Island instead. A routine Hollywood blockbuster, no surprises, but well-made for what it was. It took my mind off things for a while. Thank you, Hollywood.

Night Out With the Girls
The next day proceeded much like the one before it, with me becoming more and more confident of my role as teacher. All it really requires, at this stage, is the confidence that comes with knowing you're in charge, even if you've momentarily lost control. I slip up, but they expect me to, so, no problem, yet.

I graded some papers for J. They were by the TOEFL students, the practiced high-schoolers. One, by M.K., was very good. It contained some spelling and grammatical errors which would have been typical of the average American high school student, and some, like the omission of articles, which are par for the course for Korean students of English. But overall, it was a well-written, well-argued piece. The other two need definite work. The outline for the worst-written paper contained an ethnic slur: In a piece about what he would do if he were President Bush, one of this student's policies would be to bomb Japan, and in parentheses next to this, he wrote, "monkeys." (Koreans do NOT like Japanese people.) I'm looking for an opportune time to discuss why language like that is inappropriate in our school.

After work, D. invited me out, or rather, dragged me along, to meet his Korean prospective girlfriend and some of her friends. She's a cute 30ish nurse, who speaks English, not well. She was nice enough, but I can't say I got to know her very well. Her friends giggled over me a bit at first, and let me finish their kimchi soup (which was hot and spicy), but when it became evident that I didn't have the patience to try to carry on a conversation with people whose English vocabulary could not have exceeded 30 words (and presumably also detecting that I wasn't interested in courtship), they ignored me.

At first I thought D. was just exploiting the lady for sex, which annoyed and confused me, since he seems like such a sweet guy. At one point, I even wryly observed that "many marriages in America suffer from too much communication," but they took me literally. It turns out, however, that he is seriously interested in her. I tried to point out that they didn't even speak the same language. "But we communicate," he insisted. I think he may be getting emotionally desperate in the midst of a life-crisis, but of course I didn't say so.

We ordered some Soju watered down with noxious grape juice, and went to a noraebang (THAT'S how it's spelled). That part was fun. I sang "American Idiot" and "Like a Prayer," and D. sang "Sweet Caroline." Et al, of course. The Korean girls belted out some of their nation's love ballads, and two of them, including D.'s girl, had really good singing voices. The girls melted away, and then when our hour was up, D. and his lady friend parted. We went out to the Western bar again, and talked into the wee small hours of the morning.

I shared some of my observations about S.O., and D. was surprised at the level of insight I had achieved in just two weeks. "Most people here think he's some kind of a celebrity," D. complained. (The blond American and the Scottish man we met the other night were shocked to hear that S.O. had fled the country.) Apparently, though they were friends, D. had some serious problems with S.O. and wasn't afraid to tell him so. I think there was also a hint of jealousy, though mostly it's just that D., while not very reliable, is simply more mature than S.O.

We talked about families and life and Korea, and bullshitted philosophy for a while. D. isn't exceptionally bright, though his command of written English is very good. He has just enough education to be pretentious, but not in a way that I find irritating. And he has an innate curiosity about the world, a trait which I find to be altogether too rare in people, and which should be encouraged wherever possible.

He claims to have invented a method for learning written Korean in 3 days, which he will teach me only if I promise not to tell anyone else. He wants the knowledge to be secret. I don't know just how full of shit he is, but if his method is half as successful as he claims, why not? It would be a great help to me, and would finally help me to understand the culture.

Another successful night.

Outback
It turned out that D. had come to my house after all, just at 12 instead of 11, like he said. The weird thing is, he also went to the exact same bar that I did. We must have missed each other by a matter of 5 minutes, twice. (I know he wasn't lying, because we both saw the same Western guy surrounded by a bevy of Korean chicks sitting at a table by the door.)

Work was ok the past couple days. I feel like I'm really getting the hang of things, and settling in. I love working with the kids, even when they aggravate me. I finally put the kibosh on that hyper little bastard J.H. in my second-period class. I started aggressively handing out demerits, and separated him from his little troublemaking friend M.C. He spent the rest of the day sulking, but he got used to it by the next day. So, the class is managable now.

Also, one of the junior high-age kids started talking on his cell phone in class. I told him to turn it off, and he just held up his hand, nodded, and flashed an obnoxious smile, like "Yeah, yeah, in a second." So I wrote his name on the board and started writing "x's" next to it just like he was one of the little kids. He hung up and I told him to give me the phone, and he'd get it back after class. He didn't understand, but his friends did, and he relinquished it.

Now that I've shown them who's boss, I will have to try to make class interesting. There's the challenge. I've taught one class so far that I would describe as being really interesting. This was with M.K., Mr. K.'s son. He was actually the only one in class that day, I saw that his book had an excerpt of a Lois Lowry story, a fantastic piece of dialogue. I still remember "Number the Stars" from grade school, so I have a warm spot in my heart for Lois Lowry. M.K. is a wonderful student, very smart and a good writer, but also a bit of a wiseass. But he responded to the dialogue, a girl and her father discussing the imminent death of her sister, very sensitively.

It probably helped that I read it with such obvious passion. I was unaware, when I chose the story, of how profoundly it would affect me. I channelled a lot of my own grief at my mother's passing two years ago. He's a good kid, and I hope that says something about his father.

After work that day, everyone piled into the local Outback. It had just opened, and was reported by the students to have been mobbed earlier that day. Fortunately, things had simmered down a bit, and we were able to procure a table right away. I love Korean food, but everyone who's been here a while assures me that every now and then you need a sizzling steak. I had the sea-food spaghetti, on the assumption that Koreans couldn't screw up seafood too badly. Most everyone else had steak. J.L. had the chicken, but barely touched it, scarfing down her fries instead.

And I found out a little about everybody. J.L. has a sister and a niece, who's a spoiled brat. K. and M. are both from working-class families, and were both the first in their families to go to college. M. is a lapsed Catholic, now agnostic, and has about 6 siblings, all younger. Of course, when the food arrived, we mostly concentrated on eating, and M. seemed more interested in following a sportscast on television than making conversation, but the dinner was overall successful.

Afterward, D. and I went out to the local Western bar. We met up with D.N., quite by accident, and a female friend of his, M.G. She was a plump Canadian lady who was a professional teacher, and we had some very interesting palaver later. (She had been looking for a good movie to educate high school students about the Holocaust, and I suggested "Europa, Europa.") We also met a couple, a pretty blond woman with a mole on her cheek from America and a tall, not especially attractive guy from Scotland (whose names I'm blanking on). I talked to her more. I wasn't sure how I felt about her at first -- she was one of those people who's educated without being especially bright, and women like that can be pretentious. But she wasn't at all, she was actually very sweet, and interesting. They had been teaching in Eastern Europe before they came to Korea, Slovakia specifically. They recommended Kracow very highly.

I had a few cocktails, but just enough to break the ice. Not enough to really get drunk. In all, a successful night.

Alienation
Today, for the first time, I felt really creeped out. I had been extremely depressed the day of my hangover, and briefly panicked on a day of my vacation that I had picked to get caught up on my kids' work. But today I experienced a powerful vertigo, leading me for the first time to seriously question what I was doing here.

When I got to work -- early, again -- the first thing Mr. K. asked me (in his characteristically halting English) was, "Where were you this morning?"

"I was sleeping," I replied, quite truthfully. "I slept till 11 today."

Apparently, he had stopped by my house to look at S.O.'s room, "for the new teacher." He also updated me on the situation with S.O. Mr. K. happened to mention that he had contacted immigration, and they had told him that S.O. had not, in fact, left the country, and that he (Mr. K.) was pursuing legal action.

I put two and two together.

Later, when J. arrived, I asked her if I could see her in her office. I explained to her, politely but quite firmly, that while I did not know how things worked in Korea, in America behavior like that was simply unacceptable. I also explained, again, as politely as I could, that I didn't know anything about S.O., that I wasn't privy to his plans, and that I really didn't care to discuss the subject further. I added that I knew this was a stressful time for the management, and her in particular, and that I would help in any way I could.

She said that she would relay the message to Mr. K. She looked tired.

Later, when the other teachers arrived, I voiced my feelings about the situation. "I didn't think I was signing on for a police state," I complained. Everyone assured me that it was a purely cultural thing, and that I should just 'go with the flow'.

"Besides," K. added, "you're not alone here. You've got friends."

But do I really? Can I depend on these people at all? Do I even know them? Would I like them if I did?

Well, everyone's going out to the new Outback that just opened up by the movie complex, so I'll find out more then, presumably.

The rest of the day was something of a repeat of yesterday. I haven't quite figured out how to discipline the nine year-olds. I think it will involve qualuudes. Seconds on coffee after that class. The rest of the classes were ok, save for a few rookie mistakes, and my own lapses in knowledge of the curriculum. Nothing major, nothing catastrophic. I'm getting a feel for it. And I did have a basically good attitude around the kids. It will come in time.

After work, D. said he'd stop by at 11, but of course he hasn't. Hence a big reason for my funk. I think I'll step out for a beer, then sleep.

The First Day
To describe my mental state as apprehensive walking into school would be a truth. "True, very, very dreadfully nervous I am and have been..." But it wasn't as bad as I expected. Mr. K. was happy to see me there early, but was very upset when I gave him S.O.'s letter. No hysterics. He was just upset. As was J., who had to come directly from the airport, early, to compensate for the loss of a teacher. I had to lie to Mr. K. a little, in that I said I had no idea what was going on.

In fact I did have some idea, since S.O. had told me his plans (I now earnestly wish he hadn’t) and I suspect Mr. K. must have sensed I was being evasive. The other teachers certainly did, I am sure. It strikes me that I’ve lied to these people twice in the two short weeks that I’ve been here (the first time being when I had the hangover), and both times J. knew. It was written on her face as plain as day. Being a basically honest person, I make a terrible liar. Dissembling is an art that I fear I will never cultivate. No Oscars for me.

And in both instances of prevarication, I notice, S.O. was involved. Of course, it was my fault, he led me to the water, but I’m the one who drank. But he’s the (pardon the paronomasia) S.O.B. who led me to the water! I am beyond grateful for this opportunity, and I wanted to be as organized and professional about it as I can. It makes me sort of glad that S.O. has left, as I suspect he would have been a bad influence on me. I’m scapegoating a little, I know, and he was a nice guy, and interesting, but also a total flake.

The day was harried, to say the least. Compounded by the fact that I didn't really know what I was doing, though all the other teachers were very helpful. As I suspected, the younger ones were the problem. One of them in particular, Y.J., is an impudent little bastard who responds to discipline with a wry smirk. One of the 8/9 year-olds. I have no idea how to handle little kids. I think I did ok for my first day, since they were literally bouncing off the walls when I walked in. And I’m not using the word “literally” for mere emphasis, as the rest of my linguistically latitudinarian generation is wont to do. Literally.

They tested me, I tested them. I let them get away with a little more today than I would normally, and they in turn were either significantly more or significantly less rambunctious than usual (I THINK), depending on the kids. The adolescent girls carried on muttering conversations in Korean, and passed some notes, but I kept them interrupted long enough to get learning done. As I become more acclimated to being the one in charge (I? In charge? Call hell and ask them if there’s a nor’easter blowing through.), I will apply the ferula more diligently.

There was some drama after 6th period. J. approached us and told us that on August 15th, which is a Korean national holiday and one guaranteed off to us in our contracts, the Poly directors would be asking us to come in to work. J.L. flatly refused, just smacked the idea down without losing her temper, which I greatly respect, and the other teachers stated, diplomatically, that they would not do it without being given another day in compensation. I chimed in that they would have to offer me extra money. J. was defensive, insisting that the idea did not come from her or Mr. K., but from the company’s board (which wasn’t relevant to the subject at hand). But D. and I speculated that it was indeed Mr. K.’s way of dealing with the fallout from S.O.’s grand exit. I’m not sure what it adds up to, but if my contract stipulates that I have the day off, they’d have to either comp me a day, or pay me extra, or contract to have a dozen well-oiled cabana boys appear at my doorstep wearing nothing but loincloths and offer me a deep-tissue massage.

Day seized. Pass the tequila.

Afterwards, I stayed a little late to clean up some of the books, and J. accosted me, asking me if S.O. had said something. I told her I had no idea what he was up to, that he had discussed his plans only in vague and evasive terms, and that he had been acting suspiciously (for example, taking the dvd player). She seemed about as convinced as Caucasian America was about the O.J. verdict. But we walked for a while (her house being on the way to mine, and talked about Korean society, my experiences so far, and what I was looking for from the rest of my time here. I told her I really wanted to learn some of the language and the culture, and was amazed that so few other people in my profession really wanted to be here. She seemed impressed, in her characteristically guarded way. I hope that’s the impression that sticks.

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