Today is White Day, the day when the boys give the girls gifts (on Valentine's Day, the girls gave the boys gifts). I recently found out that there is a Black Day too, on April 14. On Black Day, boys and girls who DON'T have sig oths dress in black, meet each other to eat black food (no, not soul food, but black-colored food like jja jjang myun, a noodle dish in a black bean paste sauce) and drink black coffee. Heh. I like it.

The writing test is over and done with, and I'm sure I didn't fail. All ROIGHT!!!

Monday I have my speaking and listening/reading tests, and Tuesday my oral exam. I'm not too worried.

So, this freelance project I referred to in the past two entries. It's for a private educational institute here (there are tons and tons of them) called Ivy League. See, these institutes (hagwons) prey on the fears of parents that their kid won't get ahead in life, so that the parents walk like zombies to the phone and enlist their kid in afterschool classes in English and other subjects. It sucks for the kids, who have to frickin' do MORE school after school. It's great for North American expats, who are in high demand as native English teachers.

Last year, my dad noticed this particular hagwon in the paper and called them up to say, "Hey! My daughter is ALL about the Ivy League. Don't you need someone on your staff that is, like legit?"

So we met with an Important Person and 2 Teachers on a freezing cold winter night, and the meeting went like this:

Teacher: So...you're a teacher?
Me: Um, no.
Teacher: Do you have any teaching experience?
Me: Uh...oh yeah, yes. I taught LSAT once.
Teacher: Oh. How about with kids, have you ever taught kids?
Me: No, actually, I hate the little buggers. Oops, did I say that out loud? (Actually, I just said no.)
Teacher: I see.
[Silence.]
Dad: I don't know anything about your company, I just saw Ivy League and thought we could talk together.
Others: Uh huh.
[Silence.]
Dad: Okay, then! Just give us a call if you need us.

And that was that. Dad has a history of cooking up schemes like these, looking for money-making opportunities everywhere. I used to feel annoyed and embarrassed by it -- why couldn't he just have a 9 to 5 job like everyone else? This time I was slightly embarrassed, but mostly amused. It was pretty damn funny to be sitting around a table with four other people, none of whom knew why the hell they were there.

The really funny thing, though, is that that WASN'T that. Last week I got an email from one of the teachers, asking if I'd be interested in writing some textbook material for them. I met with her on Monday, and it looked interesting: three books about American history and culture, four lessons per book, five pages of text per lesson, 10 to 20 sentences per page. And since it was geared for elementary school kids, it would be simple enough that I could just dredge up facts from my brain or the internet.

I left the meeting thinking I'd do it, despite a really rotten schedule (the first book would be due two days after my exams).

When I got home, I talked it over with my dad, who was of the mind that they weren't going to pay enough, since I'd need at least 5 hours to write up each lesson. So I thought, oh, fuck it, I'm not going to do it. Besides, I don't want to be stressed about this over my spring break, I need to relax.

Early the next morning was when I was woken up at 5 am by the woman looking for her husband next door (see March 11 entry). I couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided, "What the hell. I'll see how long it takes me to write up one of the lessons in the first book."

It took me 2 hours.

I thought, "At this rate, I'd be crazy not to do this! I'll call and accept during break at school."

I went to my Korean writing class, where I got totally freaked out by the stuff I didn't know for the exam. "I can't do this project," I thought, panicked, "I need to study my ASS off!"

So I called the teacher and said, "Hey, I'm sorry, but I can't do this, the timing sucks." She said, "That's okay, I understand. Can you drop off the materials I gave you?" Sure, said I, and hung up.

One minute later: It's a chance to write creatively about history! What was I thinking?

55 minutes later: "Uh, hi, this is Helen again. I'm sorry to be so indecisive about this, but I thought it over again, and I'd like to do the project after all. Call or email me, okay?"

I am freakin' SPAZZ MACHINE.

But this did not seem to deter the teacher, who emailed me to say that she understood my hesitation and that if I could deliver the book by March 21, let's get started. All roight!

On Wednesday, I delivered the lesson I wrote on Tuesday morning (from 5-7 am). I need to shorten it, but otherwise it seems acceptable, which is GREAT. I'm psyched to do the stuff (it's fun, and worlds more interesting than my currently sucking-the-big-one parttime job). My sole complaint is that I have exams on Monday and Tuesday and then must deliver the rest of the chapters by the next day.

As the Koreans say, "Whiting!" which is how the rather bizarre choice of cheers -- "Fighting!" -- is pronounced.

Apologies, but I can't really write anything of substance today (if you'd even call my regular entries substantive) as I have a shitload of work at work (the GALL of these people, giving me stuff to edit!!!) and a shitload of studying to do if I am going to pass my writing test on Friday morning. Am feeling EXTRA crankified today and do NOT want to be here correcting boring-as-bricks letters.

Fearless T says that in her experience, time expands to fit the quantity of activities. "Very Einsteinian," she writes. God, I hope so.

Looking forward to March 21, which is when my freelance job will be over and thus when I can go out and pour a bucket o' beer down the hatch.

Vewy sleeepy.

This morning. Around 5. Loud, repeated pounding on the neighbor's door, punctuated by yelling.

This, through TWO sets of closed doors!

My dad later said that it was some woman who was looking for her husband. Since it's a family that lives next door, I don't think it was an outraged wife breaking up a lover's tryst or anything. Maybe a marital tiff, with the husband seeking shelter in a friend's house?

Whatever. It was weird. I couldn't fall asleep afterwards. Hence, sleeeepy.

Getting worried about exams again. Writing exam on Friday, listening/reading and speaking on Monday, and oral interview on Tuesday. Then -- FREE!!!

Well, almost. I have just taken on a freelance project due the Friday after next, which I will explain tomorrow since I am way too bleary to explain now.

Hair Be Gone

One foot equals 12 inches equals 25 centimetres equals how much hair is gone from my head.

How is it that when it's on your head, hair is, like, touch-me sexy and glamorous, but the minute it leaves your head, it suddenly becomes dirty and gross? I mean, let's say you find a hair in your food. It's your hair, even. But you're all like, ew, gross, and maybe you even throw the food out. Why?

I ask this question, full of profundity and deepity, because there is a foot-long length of my hair lying on the bedroom floor, tied up with a rubber band on one end, and loosely braided. It's a bit weird. It's actually not that gross, but I'd like it to be gone tomorrow, and I've got the envelope all ready to send to Locks of Love. LoL is an organization that accepts hair donations in order to make free wigs for kids and adults with diseases that cause them to lose their hair. I donated my hair the last time I cut it, which was about a year and 9 months ago. I've been too lazy to get it cut since then, and since I had so much hair, it seemed a waste not to just cut it all off and donate it to a good cause.

I tried to explain this to the hairdresser that my work colleague recommended, but only got as far as saying, "First off, I need to cut of 25 centimetres," before getting the stare. I managed to get out that there were sick kids with no hair, and a group that made wigs for them (pantomiming as I went along), and though she looked as if she still thought I was crazy, she got out a rubber band and sliced off the 25 cm.

It was a little sad, first to feel my head become lighter and a breeze on my neck, and then to see my hair lying rather piteously on the counter before me.

But it wasn't as sad as when the haircut was finished and I looked like Prince Valiant.

I haven't cried about a haircut since I was 11 years old and my mother brought me to a fancy Korean hair salon in L.A. where they permed my hair some crazy-ass way and I hated it so much that I cried on the way to the car, and okay, I didn't cry this time, but I damn well felt like it, especially when my friend Myung-soo, who also got her hair cut, said, "Oh, you look so different! It makes your face looks smaller. And you look really young. But kind of sophisticated at the same time, because it's mannish."

Mannish?! Wah!

I met a couple people for dinner after the haircut, and though the girls were of course very nice and said it was cute, one guy said I looked like I was in high school. Lovely. High school girls here are not what you call high fashion -- they have to wear uniforms and not dye their hair, and if I'm not mistaken, they are not allowed to wear makeup or perm their hair.

Perhaps I should have gotten the perm that I was thinking about getting, but this salon was rather expensive. The hairdresser suggested getting a straight perm. A Magic perm lasts for 6 months, she said, but it freakin' costs 300,000 won (US$250), and all I could think was: "That's worth a roundtrip ticket to Japan!" So the hairdresser -- actually, hair designer is what they call them here -- suggested the cheaper version, which would last 2 months and cost about 100,000 won (US$82), but that still seemed an awful lot to little ole me, so I refused it all.

I think this may have upset the hair designer, because she clearly had a cut in mind, and as she ran her fingers through my remaining hair, she pouted, "Oh, it's going to be all wavy!" She sighed. "Well, can I at least cut and perm your front hair?" I assented, and she went to work.

She did seem like a very competent hairdresser, but I felt trepidation the whole while, since I'd said, "Just do your thing!" throwing precaution to the wind (a bad idea for a control freak like me). When all was said and done, I calculated the following:

Tools used: 8 (scissors, clippers, razor, hair dryer, hair iron, brush, perm solution, tin foil)
People used: 6 (hair washer, hair cutter, perm-solution-putter-on, perm-solution-dryer, hair dryer, assistant to hair cutter)
Hours taken: 3.5 (there were periods where I was waiting for perm to take, for the hairdresser to come back, etc.)

Price: Normally 30,000 won (US$25), but since our work colleague had introduced us to her hairdresser, it was knocked down to 20,000 won (US$16), which is an amazing price for all that work. The last haircut I paid for in DC was $50. Without a blow-dry.

More amazing, however, is that this is considered expensive in Korea, as in many places you can get your hair cut for 10,000 won (US$8) -- and not no cheap-ass Haircuttery haircut, but a nice, quality one.

However, all this cheapness aside, I did not like the hair. I would even go so far as to say I hated the hair. The hairdresser decided to go ahead with her envisioned style, and since I didn't agree to a perm, used a straight iron to straighten my hair. Naturally, it looked glossy and flat and beautiful after that -- except for the Prince Valiant/70s bowl cut style. Okay, it was slightly updated, but I still felt like I needed to go out and buy a doublet and tights, or possible bell bottoms and platforms.

Of course, the moment I washed it, my naturally wavy hair reasserted itself, and sulked through the next day as payment for having been ironed down the previous. I suspect that the hairdresser figured on me coming back to get the perm, because I have a suspicious mind, and maybe I will -- at a different and cheaper salon. Maybe at a different place I wouldn't feel like a total freakazoid for not getting a perm (every other woman in the place had one) and not wearing make-up (the hairdresser addressed that comment to Myung-soo, since she thought I didn't understand, but I answered with a winning smile immediately, "Yup, you're right!" while saying silently, "You know, I have better things to do than be judged by someone who thinks it's a travesty not to wear makeup").

I have a feeling, though, that those kind of hair salons don't exist in Korea. Friggin' culture of feminine beauty.

So maybe I'll just keep it the way it is. Everyone says I need to get to used to it, and that it looks fine, but you can't believe people, you know, not about haircuts. It's like everyone forgets that the nice thing about hair is that it always grows back. I kept telling myself that yesterday, but it's different when you're glumly staring at a nice fat braid of glossy, beautiful hair on the floor and looking like your brother circa 1979.

Friday Night

I neglected to make any plans for Friday night, and was too chicken to call someone up at the last minute and invite them out. My work friend also had plans, so I thought maybe I'd just go home.

Yeah, just go home and read a little, go to sleep early, relax.

But I don't feel like going home.

What are you gonna to do then, go out by yourself?

Well...

So, per my advice to myself, I ventured out alone tonight. Okay, it was only to a movie, but when you: 1. are in a foreign country where you don't know the language too good; and 2. are timid like me, even going to the movies is an adventure.

I went to see 8 Mile, the Eminem movie, at the Coex Mall. This is the huge, enormous, gigantic, continental underground shopping mall where I went last week to buy a book. It contains a large theatre called "Megaplex."

The theatre complex itself is huge, enormous, gigantic, etc. Since seating is assigned, they can sell out far in advance, so there was a line to buy advance tickets. But there has to be somewhere to buy tickets from a person, I reasoned. Where was it?

Oh, I have to go down this escalator! (Mind you, we're already underground.)

Whoa. Lots of weird lighting. Hey, is that a -- yeah, it is! A Playstation Center! Weird. All the people are actually standing in front of large monitors and playing with joysticks.

Wait, there's a separate room for video games?

Why yes, my young friend, there is.

But where do you -- oh, I see it now. There's where you buy tickets for the current night. Oh, and there's a sign for 8 Mile, too. Boy, that's annoying: the 8 different movies keep switching from sign to sign. But there's a 9:00 show. Good.

What's that phrase next to the time? I bet that means there are tickets left. No, wait, maybe it means there are no tickets left. Shit. What if I get up there and say I want a ticket for the 9:00 show and they stare at me and point up to the sign?

Oh fuck it. Get in line already.

Maybe I should ask the woman behind me if that phrase means there are tickets left? Let's see, I start with "Shillae ji man" or was it "Jeh song han dae yo"? Well, she's talking to some guy now anyway.

Hey, is that my phone ringing?

It's J! J, I'm in line to buy a movie ticket! Okay, here we go...

"Can I help you?"

"8 Mile, please."

"Blabbity blah blah?"

"Uh, that's okay." (Huh?)

"How many?"

"One."

"Here's the ticket with your seat number."

"Thanks."

J, I just bought my first movie ticket in Korea!

Wow, I'm happy I could be there with you.

Aww.
. . .
I ended up sitting on the floor of the Megaplex talking to J for a while, which was nice, since I was feeling a little alone. We signed off half an hour before showtime, so I could get some food, go to the bathroom, find the bloody theatre, etc.
. . .
Okay, here I am, sitting by myself. Yup, not self-conscious at all! Feeling good, I tellya. Could do this everyday. In fact, mean to do so from now on. Yup, yup, all good.

Oh god, does everyone think I'm a freak for being here by myself?

Someone's coming into this aisle. A group of guys is sitting to my right now. Okay, I can just pretend I belong with them.

Oh look, another group of guys is sitting on my left now. Huh. The guy next to me is wearing a bandanna under a baseball cap and baggy pants. What, you think you're all gangsta now?

Oh, shut up, Helen.

Yay, previews! Chicago looks good. Catherine Zeta-Jones is beautiful. Renee Zellweger looks kinda fat. Ew, Richard Gere. Hey, I read about that new CIA movie with Colin Farrell and Al Pacino. Colin is hot. Oooh look, sex scene.

Jesus, no wonder foreigners think that Americans are sex-crazed.

Finally! The movie's starting.

[entranced for two hours, periodically thinking that you just can't really translate rap]

[exit, while being hailed to go safely by the theatre staff]

Oh, I am SO ready to buy the Eminem CD.

Oh shit, the store is closed.

In fact, ALL the stores are closed. What is this? No, I guess only the stores close by 11 pm on a Friday night. The cafes and restaurants seem to be open still.

Well then, time to head on home, I guess.

Hey, it's snowing! It's sort of wet and not very impressive, but it's snow all right. Cool. Snow.

Inner Poise

There is a man in my class who annoys me.

He's insufferably all-knowing, socially obtuse, makes unkind jokes, is always late to class though he lives 5 minutes away, and is ungenerous.

For instance. There is an unspoken rule that when you go and buy a snack for yourself, you offer it to other students who are around. Everyone shares. This fellow does the same. He sometimes even takes food from the wrapper even when the owner isn't there! And he never, but NEVER brings food to share. Today he bought two fried snack things, and offered not a bite to anyone else. Yo, YOU'RE the one working at the stock exchange here, buster! How about easing up on taking food from people who don't have jobs?

Sister Maria, the 42-year-old Japanese nun with whom I was paired for the oral midterm. She's extremely sweet and very, very conscientious. Earlier this week, this fellow was seated next to her, and because he was late and missed the answers to a page full of questions, he took advantage of a moment in which she was asking the teacher something to take her book, plunk it on his side of the desk and start copying answers! Without even fucking asking her!

I was seated with him and the Catholic priest today, and we had to read out questions given to us and make up answers using the grammar pattern we'd just learned. This fellow read the question when it was his turn, but didn't deign to make up any answers, instead staring off into space. The priest and I chugged along by ourselves for a while, until I waspishly pointed out that the fellow hadn't answered any of the questions.

The know-it-all-itis may be the worst of it, though. Yesterday we had to memorize a short dialogue, and the teacher pointed out natural stops in a particularly long sentence. I was practicing this dialogue with the fellow, and he stopped me to laugh, "You know, you're reading this like a robot! People don't really talk like that, you know, not with all the breath stops and stuff. They just say it. So try speaking naturally."

Damn. Just recalling that makes my blood boil. The fellow has lived in Seoul for two years and is getting married to a Korean woman in May. So yeah, he's pretty good at Korean. But he by no means has bragging rights. When we're reviewing vocab, his voice is always heard asking "What's this? Okay, what's this?" Then, when someone else tells him, he turns to the next person and says, "Car. It means car," as if that person didn't know. Half of the time, he's misunderstood the explanation and the word actually means toaster oven or something.

Today, he said with absolute conviction and surety that the verb "to live" was conjugated a way that I was 95 percent sure was incorrect. But when I said, no I don't think so, I think it's this way, he shook his head as if he were the teacher and pronounced the incorrect conjugation even more exaggeratedly, as if I were a dolt. Grrr.

Have you got a sense now of how much he bugs? I must admit, I said "PLBBBT!" when the teacher confirmed that I was right about the conjugation.

I should NOT let this guy get to me. Because he's not being annoying as hell on purpose -- that's just the way he is. He can't help it. But I can help my reactions. As the Dalai Lama so rightly says, if your neighbor hates you, it's no good hating her back, since it just comes back to bite YOU in the ass. (Somewhat paraphrased.) So I will do my best to treat this schmuck -- I mean, person -- as a test of my patience from now on.

How will I do this? By reaching over and pulling his tongue out of his mouth the next time he implies that someone is several stages below him on the evolutionary scale? Good idea, but, uh, no, unfortunately. I don't think I'll get any patience points for acting as jerky as he does.

Sleeeeeepy.

Stupid me, I keep staying up late at night surfing the 'Net, because I am an idiot.

Moreover, I am brainless, deficient, dim, dense, dodo, doltish, dopy, dotterel, dull, dumb, foolish, futile, half-baked, half-witted, ill-advised, imbecilic, inane, indiscreet, insensate, irrelevant, irresponsible, laughable, loser, ludicrous, meaningless, mindless, moronic, naive, nonsensical, obtuse, pointless, puerile, rash, senseless, short-sighted, simple, simple-minded, slow, sluggish, stolid, stupefied, thick, thickheaded, trivial, unintelligent, unthinking, AND (dum duh duh dum!) ... witless.

Moreover, I am even dumber than all that, because I just spent five minutes looking up synonyms for "stupid" on dictionary.com, and another five minutes weeding out the adjectives I didn't like before decided to actually keep them in because I think it's dumb to include "irrelevant" and "laughable" as synonyms for "stupid."

Moreover, I am now using my tongue to type because my head has just fallen onto the keyboard due to the fact that my neck refuses to support such a moronic body part any longer.

I would normally stay up and type something anyway, but I'm going to be wise, for once, and listen to my body. I suspect that recent downer feelings are resulting from or at least exacerbated by the lack of sleep.

I hope no one thought that the letter I posted on Friday was MY letter. I stole it and the response from tomationation.com, and then wrote a commentary below both of them. So don't worry, I'm not being berated by irascible grandfathers.

Okay, extremely long entry below.
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Weekend

This weekend, my work friend Myung-soo and her younger sister had a nice trip back home to celebrate her grandmother's 91st birthday. On the train ride back, she and her sister were sleeping in their seats, when they were woken by an old man who wanted to sit in the space behind their seats. You see, he had a standing ticket (trains sell standing tickets and sitting tickets) and wanted to sit down, and their seats were the last in the compartment, and had a little space behind them that someone could squeeze into.

He was rather rude about it: instead of asking, "Do you mind moving your seat back up a little so I can sit down?" he pushed the seat back up on his own, causing Myung-soo's sister to awaken. Okay, annoying, but whatever.

But it's very uncomfortable to sleep sitting straight up, and so Myung-soo's sister eventually asked if she could ease the seat back slightly, in order to recline more comfortably. The old man began to berate them, asking, "What's the matter with you?! You're young, and you can't even take that little discomfort?" (all in the impolite, casual speech form used between close friends and to children).

This went on for a minute, after which Myung-soo got very angry and started screaming back. I think the conversation went something like this:

"What's wrong with you! Can't you be a little more polite?"

"What's with you young people today? How dare you use casual speech to me? Who are you that you can talk to me this way?"

"Who are YOU that YOU can talk to me this way?! Respect me and I'll respect you!"

And so on, attracting a fair amount of attention. It's not every day that a young Korean woman argues loudly with an older man.

A little later, after both parties decided to ignore each other, Myung-soo's sister got a call on her cell phone, and began complaining about the old man in English. When she got off the phone, the old man poked her and said, "I just have one more question."

"What?!" said Myung-soo's sister, ungraciously.

"Are you American?"

Myung-soo said her sister was so angry that she just said, "Yes! I am!"

To which the old man returned: "I thought so! You have American ways! No respect!"

I bewailed her sister's choice of answer to Myung-soo: "What -- she couldn't have said she was Canadian?" (Myung-soo's family lived in Canada for a few years.) Myung-soo laughed long and hard at this, and so did I, but I was truly a little upset -- Americans have enough stereotypes and past bad behavior to overcome without someone falsely shifting the blame to us. After all, the real answer would have had more drama and more irritation factor: "No, I'm not American, I'm Korean, and if you think I'm American because I don't like rude, uncouth people, then all the better for Americans!!"

Ironically, I am American, and I'm the last person who would have made a fuss like Myung-soo did. I even told her that I envied her fiery temper and instinct to stand up for herself and her sister, to tell someone flat out that they were wrong to behave the way they did, and to go fly a kite. I'm way too timid to do something like that. If someone is unpleasant or rude to me, I'm more likely to quietly seethe and then cry frustrated tears afterwards. Internalizing the anger? Dunno. All's I know is that I sometimes wish I could just reach out and smack someone.
---------------------------
On Friday night I went over to Tex's apartment for a great night of American fun: pizza, Survivor, The Agency, and ice cream. I will bear witness that Domino's pizza here tastes just like pizza back in the States. Mmmm.

I had actually never seen a whole Survivor episode before Friday, and I admit it was pretty amusing. This time it's in the Amazon, and the teams are split by gender.

Tex was bummed by the voting off of the hot Asian guy, who was a slimy flirt and as dumb as rocks, but easy on the eyes. Still, you, me, and everyone else on the planet watching knew that he was a goner just as soon as he said, "X is my best friend here, I can totally trust him."

Cut to next scene: X scheming with someone else to toss Hot Asian Man off the show.

Just before the voting started, Hot Asian Man said something amazingly stupid, in terms of surviving: "Well, just look -- I'm the only Asian guy surrounded by all these white guys." Hey, excellent way to win "all these white guys" over to your side, Hot Asian Man! Immediately, one of the white guys jumped on that statement, declaring that neither he nor any of the other white guys had treated HAM differently because he was Asian.

When everyone's votes were counted, and everyone had voted to exile HAM (including HAM's "best friend"), Tex bemoaned the decrease in level of hottiness. And then, more seriously, she asked what I thought of HAM's ham-handed statement.

A tricky can of worms, to be sure. For I am sure that "all these white guys" completely believed that they did not treat HAM any differently because of his race. But there's a large field of study about implicit attitudes, the ones we have but may not be aware we have, and I'm pretty convinced that we have and sometimes act on these attitudes.

Check out http://implicit.harvard.edu for an interesting demo and study on it.

As for me, I think HAM was dumb and the dude who answered him was naive. But really, what else are you supposed to say to something like HAM's comment? Survivor: Amazon viewers aren't watching so they can get a treatise on implicit social cognition! They're watching so that they can see scenes like the one of three hot babes bathing (as a reward for winning one of the games) and deciding, very naturally, "Hey! Let's take our tops off!" They're watching so that they can hear a hot Asian man say, "I don't like him because he's really bossy. Plus, he smells"! They're watching so they can listen to the men discuss which woman was the hottest!

On the whole, I prefer Fear Factor. I admire the straightforward setup and simple lust for fame and fortune.
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Saturday night I went out with a bunch of people from school. I actually only knew the organizer, Yale Boy, who is got a fellowship to study in Korea for a year; I had dinner with him and the fellowship program people last term.

I was not in a good mood and didn't feel like going out, but brightened up when I saw that the only people waiting in front of the McDonald's so far were all guys. I'm sure I wouldn't have felt the same if it had been mostly girls. Believe me, I am SO not a flirt, but it soothed my prickly spirit to see guys there; there's something lovely and comforting about being the only girl among a group of nice guys -- reminds me of my year at Club DOJ, when I was the only girl among five guy's guys who were also inexpressibly sweet.

By way of introducing me to one of his friends, Another Yale Boy, original Yale Boy said: "Guess how old she is!" (Meaning me.)

I decried this as rude, so Yale Boy apologized and then said, "Okay, guess when she graduated college!"

Okay, and HOW is this different from asking my age? Oh, whatever, chalk it up to the immaturities of 20-year-olds. For that is how old the Yale Boys (plus Russian Boy, another member of the party) are.

Twenty!

Which explains, naturally, why Another Yale Boy got to talking about i-banking, and how he just wanted to make lots of money and not work when he grew up, and how everyone graduating was working like 60 hours a week, and how he was majoring in Bio because of his parents. Yale Boy responded by saying he was thinking about majoring in Religious Studies.

Whereupon I wandered off to look at the bowling.

Oh yeah! That's where we went. A bowling alley. On the eighth floor of a building in Shinchon (the area of Seoul where my school is located).

Bowling in Korea is the same as bowling in America. I suck at it. But I have a good time nonetheless.

You can't drink in Korean bowling alleys, which might actually be a blessing, seeing as how one of our party dropped the ball on his back swing 6 or 7 times without alcohol.

After bowling, our party, which grew to about 10 or so (mostly language school students), decided to go have sam gyup sal (fried pork wrapped in lettuce -- mmmmm) and soju -- ajyushi (older man) style, as Another Yale Boy put it.

I dislike soju, so I ordered a bottle of sweet wine (name of which is "100 Years Wine"), and was told by Another Yale Boy that it was expensive and didn't taste good. To which I replied, "Fine, then I'll drink the whole bottle myself!" Punk.

A few minutes into dinner, Russian Boy returned with his girlfriend, a Korean Russian who I've noticed in the hallways before because she is tiny, perfect, and speaks Russian, of course.

In fact, pretty much everyone at the table spoke two languages already, and were working on Korean as their third. The Japanese people, having been schooled in English since junior high, at least understood quite a lot, and the Russians both spoke English -- Russian Boy with a firm grasp of idioms and everything.

I felt keenly the inadequacies of American education.

After dinner, we moved onto the third part of the evening (all Korean outings must involve at least three places, and I'vee been told that the ideal evening consists of five or six!), which was the inevitable karaoke establishment. Chinese, Japanese, English and Korean songs were sung, and only two songs before I was about to inflict "Oops, I Did It Again" upon them, I realized that it was 12:20 and I had to catch the metro before it closed.

So Yale Boy's close friend Yokyo and I hurried to the metro, which is open until 1 am.

During the week.

Argh.

We considered crashing at Yale Boy's place, but Yokyo had done that the night before, and I -- well, it might have been fun, but now that I'm an old, old almost-27, I need to go home and sleep. So we considered taking a taxi, but before we had decided anything, I got a call from my dad.

And what did this old, old almost-27-year-old do? Why, accept an offer of a pick-up by Dad, of course, and request a ride for Yokyo as well.

Yokyo was amazed that my dad would do this. Her dad refused to pay for her college education, so she didn't go, instead going to a theological institute. Her dad almost stopped her from going to high school too, citing that lovely old reason that because she was a girl, she didn't need any more education, but Yokyo's teacher came to her house and talked with her father for two hours before convincing him to let her go to high school.

So when my dad insisted (in his mild way) on taking her home instead of dropping her off at her usual metro stop, she was very astonished, and I was very aware of being damn lucky.

No time to write today, and won't have time tonight, so am going to post something I wrote on the fly yesterday. It was in response to a letter on one of my favorite website, written by a friend of a friend of a friend, Sarah Bunting. (I talked to her once, like a year ago, when I was angsting about law school vs. writing, but we're not friends.) First time writing to an advice columnist! Unfortunately, despite my brrrrrilliant advice and comments, I didn't get printed on her site... so I'm putting it up on mine. (The raison d'etre for 99.9 percent of all opinion columns.) (Oh, and you can check out the letter that Sarah DID put up on her site -- it raised points remarkably similar to mine -- at www.tomatonation.com/vinetoday.asp.)

First comes the letter, then comes Sarah Bunting's advice, and then my response.
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The Letter
Dear Sars,

I have a problem. About 18 months ago, I moved to another country. I'm Asian and I have family there (grandparents and extended familiy), though we're not close, mostly the "meet only at Christmas and holidays" type. My mother arranged for me to have my meals at my relatives' place, for which I pay a monthly food fee. I thought the arrangement was going okay -- I would go over there, have my meals with them, sit around and relax with them, et cetera. I don't talk a lot with my grandparents due to the language barrier, and my cousins are mostly young children (under ten years), so my conversations with them have been sort of limited to gestures and my poor linguistic attempts.

I'll admit that I could have made a greater effort to be more familiar with them. I tried buying the kids some treats but got lectured by my grandparents on how it was bad for their teeth, et cetera; tried to buy some stuff for them but then got lectured for wasting money; and I pretty much gave up after the first six months or so.

Then a few nights ago, my grandfather suddenly started laying into me. From my grasp of the language, I gather that the gist of his lecture was that I didn't make enough of an effort to be like family with them, that I behaved like a stranger who just came over for meals. My grandfather told me that they would no longer provide meals for me (I don't really mind that), and that I shouldn't come over so often was strongly implied.

He also said that I didn't really treat them like family, that when I brought food over (from outside), I didn't share it with them. The problem is that I have brought food for them, for which I have sometimes been rebuked for buying stuff that's not their perferred brand, too sweet, too unhealthy, and so on. After a while of that, I gave up on buying food or anything for them.

He also mentioned that I refused to tutor to my cousin (who is about eight years old), which I did, but because I have no experience teaching at all, and no idea about what she's taught in school or what I'm supposed to do. I do want her to do well in school, but I didn't think that I was the right person to teach her. Also, my auntie and uncle consider her academic success to be very important, and I guess I just saw a can of worms that I didn't want to get involved with. My grandparents took as another example of my selfishness.

Now on to my problem -- I really want to mend fences with them. I just don't know how to do this without inadvertently offending them like I've been doing previously. I also don't want to lose touch with them because they're my family. Any ideas would be much appreciated.

Hopelessly Out Of Touch

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The Response
Dear Out,

I think you should ask to speak to your grandfather -- tell him you'd like to apologize, and that you don't want him to interrupt until you've finished. Then apologize, and tell him what you've just told me. You feel terrible if you've offended him and/or the rest of the family, and you'd like to become closer to them, but you have difficulties with the language, and you don't know what they consider "proper" all the time -- so you hope he'll give you another chance, and you also hope he'll help you with some of the cultural differences, because he assumes you know what they expect and how things are done, but you don't.

The trick is to make him see that you feel bad, but also that, as you say, you offended them inadvertently. I think your grandfather came down a little hard on you given that you barely know either him or the language, but on the other hand, I don't think he's inclined to see it that way or to change his way of dealing with you, so appeal to him as an elder and ask him to guide you a bit better in the future.
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My Comments
Hi Sars,

I read Hopelessly Out of Touch's message with much interest. I'm Korean-American and moved to Korea five months ago, so I sympathize with Touch's cultural ignorance. If I'm right that Touch is Asian-American, and that Touch is currently in the motherland, I have some comments for her (or him).

First, if Touch is still limited linguistically, talking to Grandfather is going to be difficult, considering the ideas she would want to get across. Although I agree that Touch should also address Grandfather directly, I'd also suggest that she contact her mother and ask for advice on how to make up. Older generation Asians often don't understand the straightforward, "let's talk things out" method of reconciliation so favored by Americans. The code of conduct in Asia is drastically different from the American one, and while you might not agree with it, at least you can try to understand it so that you offend people out of informed choice rather than ignorance.

Following this line of thought, Touch should ask native friends for explanations and advice. Touch mentioned that her grandparents didn't seem to like the food she brought for them or the sweets she brought for the kids. In Korea, gift recipients often don't express gratitude; more often they'll say something like, "Are you crazy? Why did you spent so much money?" So her grandparents' criticism may not indicate disapproval.

If Touch felt that her food gifts were truly not appreciated, she might have considered doing as the natives do, by noting what foods were eaten in the house and buying some of those things for the family in addition to the food Touch wanted to eat by herself. In Korea, for example, dessert doesn't usually include sweets -- it's usually fruit. Again, this is something she could ask her friends or mother.

I'm willing to lay a bet that, with the craze in Asia for learning English, Touch's grandparents probably want her to tutor her cousin in that lovely language. I doubt that her relatives would demand that she tutor her cousin in math or science or other fields that she doesn't specialize in, but even if that were the case, Touch could probably get away with claiming ignorance and stick with English. Native English-speakers are hot commodities in Asia, and are regularly asked to tutor kids; my next-door neighbor, out of the blue, asked me to tutor her daughter in English two weeks ago. Since I hate kids, there was no way I was going to do it, but in Korea, you don't say no. Seriously. Your refusal must be shown in the tone of voice, demeanor, and un-enthusiasm of your reply, which is more along the lines of: "Well, you know, I don't have much time these days, but if I do, I will call you." That's clearly a "no" to Koreans.

In essence, Touch would benefit enormously from asking natives about rules of conduct in her host country. Knowing the rules will help her: (1) figure out how to apologize and make up with her grandparents; (2) avoid making further errors; and (3) decide on an informed basis how far she wants to "do as the Romans do." The last point is very important, because Touch may not want to conform to the rules that dictate how a family member should act. In Korea, most kids stay at home until they wed; they often live at home during college; and even when married, see or talk to their parents quite frequently. A 28-year-old friend of mine lives with her parents and still has a 11 pm curfew. No one raised in America will take easily to these expectations, and Touch shouldn't feel bad about not fulfilling them if she doesn't want to. But she should also be prepared for the consequences if she doesn't, and respectfully make arrangements that cause as little offense as possible while still maintaining her principles.

Family is very, very important in Asia, and with some etiquette coaching and humility, I think Touch should be able to mend fences. I loudly applaud her desire to try.

Another Expat

Check out the Feb. 24 post for info about accessing photos I've put up on www.ofoto.com.
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Spring Courage

It's definitely warming up. Despite my dislike of the upcoming season, I am looking forward to seeing green. I arrived here in early October, so I saw dying leaves for a short while and then, when they fell off, only bare branches.

My spring break is in four weeks, and I'm psyched to go to Southeast Asia.

On Monday night, I went to the Coex Mall, the largest underground mall in Korea, and location of one of the biggest bookstores here too -- makes your average superstore B&N look like the neighborhood cubbyhole bookshop. I vacillated between the Lonely Planet's guide to Vietnam or its guide to Southeast Asia. I really want to go to Vietnam -- have for several years -- and liked the depth of coverage of the Vietnam book, but I opted for the broader guide in the end, because who knows where I'll end up going?

After buying the guide (a whopping 30 percent markup from the American price), my stomach beat its way through to my brain and steered my body into Burger King, where I had some fries. Greeeeasy and gooood.

So I sat in the Burger King at Coex Mall, and read about Vietnam and Thailand, and it occurred to me that I really haven't gone out by myself much here. Even just the simple act of going to a bookstore and then hanging out in a shop afterwards is a novelty for me. I go to school, I go to work, and I go home. On the weekends I'll go see family or get together with friends. But I don't really go out much by myself.

(Watch out, there's some navel-gazing about to come your way.)

I didn't go out much by myself in DC, either -- there was always something to do at home or someone to call up if I wanted to go out. If I couldn't find someone to go with me, I'd often just say to myself, "Oh well. Oh, hello, Little Women!" and end up reading or watching TV or something.

Why do I do that? Or rather, why don't I just go out myself and do things? I think I might lack self-confidence. I think I also might be afraid, strangely enough. And of course, I am definitely really, really lazy. I know it doesn't seem like it, but if I don't have something planned, I can just slum around the apartment all day reading books that I've already read a dozen times.

This is something I feel bad about, considering the riches to be mined by living in a vibrant city (be it DC or Seoul), but I'm trying to get over it, because I enjoy slumming around the apartment, and I don't enjoy running around all the time.

But the fear thing, that's not so good. Nor the lack of self-confidence.

Before I left, a couple friends expressed their admiration at my plans to throw my life into complete upheaval. I'm not sure they believed me when I told them that I was petrified. I thought I'd have no friends, I thought I'd be laughed at and scorned by native Koreans, I thought I wouldn't be able to find a job, I thought I'd be holed up in my room reading Harry Potter books for the 20th or 30th time. I was fully prepared to hate the first three or four months, and was determined to stick it out for at least that long, since I was bound to hate Korea during that period.

As it turns out, Seoul is far more westernized than I thought it would be, school is a veritable cornucopia of friendly people, I found a job right away, and when I do hole up in my room and read Harry Potter books for the 25th time, it's completely by choice.

Since I live with my dad, my life here is practically free of all discomforts and unease. So my pre-Korea fears look foolish from this side of things. Even so, I didn't know how comfortable it would actually be, and so I do give myself some credit for actually going through with my plans despite my fears. I guess I believed I'd land on my feet.

Now that I'm here, how do I translate that faith into something that will give me the courage to go explore on my own?

I suppose you do it by doing it, and that's what I'll have to do.

Once I get over being lazy, that is.

Check out the Feb. 24 post for info about accessing photos I've put up on www.ofoto.com.
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Bleary Eyes and -- Ooo, the Desk Looks Like A Nice Pillow

Q: Why did the student stay up until 4 am on a weeknight?

A: Because she is stooo-pid.

Periodically, I do this (stay up until 2 or 3 or 4 am) -- and for no particular reason, either. It's always on a school/work night, and it's usually because I'm reading a book (or preparing for a trip, but that doesn't count). The last couple times I stayed up were to read the second, third and fourth Harry Potter books, and to read a Nora Roberts romance novel. (I didn't feel so bad about H.P., but I am rather embarrassed about the romance.)

Last night it was the internet -- in particular a funny site at www.cockeyed.com. The author wastes what appears to be oodles and oodles of time creating elaborate parties or jokes or experiments. I loved 'em, especially the random milk providing night and the trophy distribution night. The paparazzi costume is also definitely worth a look.

The dude reminds me of the girl in high school who celebrated whatever holiday it happened to be with great enthusiasm; you know, the one who wore the green tights and shamrock pins on St. Patrick's Day, gave out heart-shaped candy for Valentine's Day, wore a costume to school for Halloween. I thought it was silly then, but now I find it sort of endearing, that kid-like innocent enthusiasm for dressing up and getting excited about special days. I treat most holidays like regular days, partly because I object to the commercialization of all of them, but mostly 'cause I'm just freakin' lazy and don't feel like going to the trouble of preparing valentines or thinking up a great costume.

The dude at cockeyed.com is not like me. Check the site out when you have the chance.

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Hair

So yesterday I was riding home with two colleagues and I had to ask them, in light of the missile launched on Monday, if they were worried about North Korea.

"No, not really," said one with a smile and blush, as if she felt that she perhaps should.

The other agreed.

I pressed further: "So do you think there will be a war?"

No, both of them said again. One explained, "If they started a war, everyone would die. They don't want to die either."

"But what about the missile?"

A bluff, my friend surmised, which was Colin Powell's take on things too, apparently.

And with that we turned to more important things, namely where and how to cut our hair.

See, I am THIS close to taking the scissors at home and chopping off my hair myself, it's that long. It's been a year and half since I cut off 10 inches to donate to Locks of Love, the organization that accepts hair of at least that length to make wigs for children who have lost their own hair. I think I may have enough to donate again, which is a testament to how truly and deeply lazy I am.

I asked my well-groomed and elegantly dressed colleague where she got her hair cut, and she recommended her hairdresser. "She's a little expensive, though," she warned. "She charges 30,000 won for a haircut and 70,000 won for a perm."

Less than US$30 for a cut! How can this be considered expensive? But it is -- you can find decent hairdressers here who charge 10,000 won (less than US$10) for a cut and 30,000 won for a perm (less than US$30).

Armed with this news, I feel I can embrace a wider range of options. Maybe I'll try a straight perm again! The last time I did it was in junior high, when I had hair about as long as it is now, and perming it straight involved pasting chunks of my hair onto pieces of red plastic and leaving it there for hours, so that I looked like ... well, there is no equivalent. Perms have evolved since then. I hope.

My colleague bought a magazine at the subway station which contained a promising-looking "Designer Hair Booklet," but we didn't like any of the hair styles; many of them looked quite nice from the front, but the backs often looked like prime real estate for birds.

Despite the lack of inspiring hair styles in the magazine, my colleague and I decided to get our hair cut near Ewha Womans College, where there are many trendy clothes stores and cheap hair salons. (The area is also noted for dressmaker shops, which get particularly busy around graduation. Why? I think it is no longer the case now, but until recently, Ewha students could not be married while attending the school. Yeah.)

A note about fashion magazines here -- they cost a little more than those in the states (about $6 or $7), but in return, they're usually paired with the gift of the month. Gifts for various magazines this month include: a canvas handbag, a box of make-up, a pashmina scarf, a tube of Stila lip gloss, and Calli (another make-up brand) whitening cream. (Yup, the whitening cream is of the ilk that inhabits Michael Jackson's vanity.)

Another magazine note: I tried buying Cine 21, a film industry rag, but was told it was sold out. I have no doubt that the reason is the cover: a sleek photo of Keanu Reeves and Carrie Ann Moss, decked out in the dom leather outfits and famed sunglasses of the first Matrix and looking beautiful in an utterly unearthly way (both of them). Cannot WAIT til May.

Check out the post for Feb. 24 for info about accessing some photos I've put up on www.ofoto.com.
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It's funny how people expect me to know everything about the U.S.

At work today I was asked which five states had the greatest concentration of liberal arts colleges. I could only come up with three -- New York, Massachusetts and California. So then I was asked to list 10 liberal arts colleges, and I did so after looking up some on the Internet. Then I was asked, "Are these in order of highest ranking?" Uhhh, NO. I don't freakin' memorize the US News and World Report rankings, people! There are hundreds if not thousands of colleges in the U.S.! I don't even believe in those stupid rankings anyway!

I did find, though, that among the self-styled "leading liberal arts colleges" in the U.S., the greatest concentrations ARE in New York, Massachusetts, California and ... Pennsylvania. I was surprised about PA. I think Ohio actually made a good show too.

Last week a friend at work who's hoping to go to grad school in the States asked me how the University of Hawaii at Manoa is viewed. Dude, I so do not know. I hopped on the Internet and found that it was ranked pretty low, but I sent that info to my friend with the caveat that its Linguistics Department could be number 1 in the country for all I knew. He then revealed that he'd done some research and that most linguistics professors in Korea who had gotten their degrees overseas had gone to the UH at Manoa. Dude. If the freakin' profs are all going there, do you think that they might POSSIBLY be a MITE more reliable than moi?

Am I being too prickly about this? I promise, I wasn't at all so when I answered these questions, but dear me, I must express myself somewhere.

As I've mentioned to a few friends, I think I'm going through that second phase of expatriotism where I hate the country I'm living in. Not all the time, of course, and I still feel very lucky to be here and to be having this experience, but nevertheless, I get the on the subway and I look around and I think: "I hate your dyed hair, and I hate your stupid cell phone toys, and I hate the stuffed dog cell phone cover you have, and I hate your kimchee breath, and I hate the way you shove past me in order to get a seat, and I hate the bows on your shoes, and I hate the way you wear flats with jeans, and I hate the obviously penciled-in eyebrows, and I hate the god-awful perms, and I hate the way you pair black tights and shoes with jean skirts, and I hate the permed hair on men, and I hate the way you all dress exactly the same, and I hate your dog too."

Well, no, I don't actually hate your dog. But I think it's horrid that you've dyed your dog's ears fluorescent green (no joke).

Like I said, it's not really so bad most of the time. It's just that the first flush of love, as it were, is gone. Before, I used to go into the subway and laugh with delight at the strange and new styles and objects. Now it's just, well, there.

I think the fact that I've gone and eaten at Burger King twice in the past seven days is definitely a sign that the honeymoon's over.

PHOTOS!!!

I've finally posted some up at www.ofoto.com. The easiest way I could figure to do this was to give you all my login and password so you can see all the photo "albums" in my account. I'll trust you not to replace my snarky captions with even snarkier ones.

Go to www.ofoto.com. Email Address: hkim100@hotmail.com; Password: hkim100

Enjoy!

A couple classmates (including this correspondent) have been feeling under the weather as of late: without appetite, slightly nauseous, fatigued. (I'm actually feeling better, though, thanks.) Today our speaking teacher explained why Koreans blame this sort of seemingly reasonless illness on spring.

Koreans believe that of the four seasons, people are more likely to be tired in spring and energetic in the fall. This is based on a zero-sum view of energy supply: there is a limited amount of energy in the world, shared between people, animals and plants, and if one needs more energy at a given time, the others will feel de-energized. In the spring, because plants need extra energy to wake up, bud, blossom, and do other sorts of bloomy things, people feel tired, because the energy portion that would usually be theirs is being used by the plants and trees.

However, humans get their revenge (mwah hah hah hah!) in the fall, when we eat the fruits of the trees and plants, and get our energy back.

I knew there was a reason why I like autumn and hate spring!

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On Friday night, my classmates from last quarter met up at Adrian's apartment to say goodbye to Harue, the kindergarten teacher who's going back to Japan this week. Adrian was in our class last quarter, but started work right after it ended.

Adrian works for the Singaporean embassy here, and is thus set up in Da House. (Or Da Apartment, if you insist on being specific.) He lives in a high-rise serviced residence in Insadong, which means he basically lives in a hotel in one of the nicest parts of town. So: spacious, three bedroom apartment, nice hardwood floors, beautiful view, in-house drycleaning, health club, sauna, pool, billiards table, and.... FOOZBALL!!!

I'm not an ardent Foozball player by ANY means, but the sight of the familiar game was strangely like seeing a friend.

Before meeting up at the apartment, we gathered at the closest metro station, and met our teacher's new boyfriend. Woo woo!

All last quarter our teacher constantly joked about the fact that she didn't have a boyfriend, so we were quite excited for her. He lived in Argentina for several years when his family moved there, and so answers to the name "Miguel" and prefers using a fork to chopsticks. They were -- get this -- introduced by a nun who attends the language school!

Apparently, because he attends Catholic University, he knows quite a few nuns and priests, and so the nuns showed him a picture of our teacher and he found her agreeable, and asked our teacher if she'd mind meeting him, and she didn't, and they've been together for a month now.

Woo woo!

While we waited for Adrian to get home, we picked up some chicken wings and other party food, which we piled into when we got to his place. We ordered pizza too, and I must say that it tastes pretty much like the Pizza Hut back home. Mmmm. Cheesy.

During the party, for some reason, Adrian's wedding album came out and toured the group. Now wedding albums are normally pretty funny, what with the posed pictures and airbrushing, but this one was freakin' hilarious. There was a really great photo of Adrian in a black suit against a red backdrop, hands in pocket, feet apart, and a shit-eating grin on his face. He looks like he was posing for a CD cover or something.

There was also one of his wife, impeccably and beautifully dressed in her wedding gown, inexplicably climbing a column.

Adrian is quite good-natured, so he didn't mind the laughter, and agreed that most of the poses were rather ridiculous. But you could see that he adores his wife.

When Father Njoroje, the priest from Kenya, was looking at the album, he unwittingly created even more hilarity, because he accidentally dropped some ice cream on a corner of a photo, and I quickly wiped it off, telling him to be careful. But the man was not content with simply turning the pages of the album -- for some reason, he felt the need to put his whole hand on the photos! So this exchange ensued:

Me: "No, you shouldn't touch photos like that, it'll damage the paper...."

Father Njoroje: "No, no, it's special photo paper, it's okay" (while rubbing his fingers over the photo to demonstrate)

Me (laughing): "That's even more reason to not touch it!"

Harue started laughing hysterically -- like, crouched on the floor, can't get up laughter -- because the more I tried to tell him that you shouldn't touch photos like that, the more he did it, first innocently and then insisting that it wouldn't be harmed if he touched it. Eventually I backed away from the good Father and the album, afraid I was going to drool on it because I was laughing so hard.

It was all awfully fun, and we all seemed to know enough Korean to have a good time for several hours, and we were very sad at the end because Harue is one of those good, sweet people who can really pull everyone together, because everyone likes her. Today she came to school to say goodbye for the last time and to give us all copies of pictures from that night.

I'm going to try and visit her in Japan if I can.

Got the deferral.

Subway fire: One reaction I felt yesterday (and continue to feel today) is that of relief. I'm glad it wasn't a political statement. I know it makes no difference to the dead, the hurt, and their families, but I'm glad it wasn't terrorism.

Graduation: This week saw graduation ceremonies at high school and colleges. I saw news coverage of a high school graduation, and was shocked to see kids in school uniforms dousing each other with bags of flour, throwing eggs and ketchup at each other, and -- in the case of boys -- even tearing off the clothes of their graduating friends. As in, ripping the uniforms to shreds, down to the tighty-whitey -- and sometimes beyond!

Apparently college graduation is even more raucous -- someone in my class who's been living here for two years and who has a Korean fiancee told me, "They're never coming back, you know? So it's a way to say good-bye."

(I amuse myself by imagining an Old Campus stampede of egg-covered, ketchup-smeared, floury graduates being chased by friends and family.)

Tuesday morning I went to class late since I was just too pooped to get up on time, and stepped out of the metro to dozens and dozens of flower vendors setting up shop on the sidewalk, all the way up to the Sogang University front gates and beyond. In the afternoon, as I descended into Daeheung station, some vendors were hawking their wares on the steps leading into the station.

But the flowers! No simple cellophane and pink ribbon held these bouquets. Stunning arrangements of roses, daisies and a variety of other flowers were swathed in colorful mesh cloth, their stems tidily wrapped in bright fabric. Perfectly tied ribbons completed the standard bouquet, which cost about $9 USD.

I hope the flowers weren't subjected to ketchup-dousing.

Datelines of some articles in U.S. papers read Seoul, but it happened in Daegu, and so I didn't know anyone who was killed or injured in the subway fire. The man who set the fire yesterday morning is an ex-taxi driver who suffered a stroke in 2001. I've heard reports that he was suicidal, but he managed to get out of the train and the station.

The arsonist set flame to a bottle of flammable liquid. The flames spread very quickly because of the flammable nature of practically everything in the train car.

A second train pulled into the station four minutes after the fire started. I heard that the driver of the train, upon seeing the flames, tried to speed up and pass the station. But the emergency system reacted at the wrong time: electricity was cut off to the trains and the station. The train doors wouldn't open. The ventilation system did not turn on. There were no lights in the station. Safety doors cut off escape routes. Toxic fumes filled the cars and the station.

One headline I was able to understand was a quote from one of the train riders, a young woman who called her mother. It read: "Mom, save me. The doors won't open."

The death toll is at 130 and rising. Many bodies were burned to the bone. Many died of smoke inhalation.

Police are guarding the arsonist's hospital room against victims' relatives.

I had one of those "simple pleasures" moments today. At 2 pm, I trudged out of the metro, totally exhausted from this weird nausea/no appetite/fatigue I've been suffering these past two days. Not to mention the thousand stairs one must climb to get out of every darntootin' metro station here.

I was headed in the direction of the office when I abruptly turned back with two words fixed in my brain: French fries.

There's a Burger King right outside of the metro station, and I headed in there and stood in front of the counter until I located the French fries. There they were: "Hu-ren-chi hu-rye-ee." (There's no "ffff" sound in Korean.)

I gave the countergirl the 1,000 won (less than $1 USD) and had to ask her to repeat herself when she asked "For here or to go" in Korean. She smiled and repeated the phrase, and I had a moment of utter gratitude that I was in Korea, where the fast food counter people are polite, because in my gee-the-floor-looks-like-it'd-be-nice-to-sleep-on state, I don't think I could have borne the usual American fast food serviceperson's resentment. Then she apologetically said that it'd be a minute before the new fries were ready, and if I could have, I'd have said, "I don't care that I have to wait! It's worth it to be smiled at!"

I walked out with my bag of small fries, and walked to work, stuffing my face with piping hot fries, remembering that Koreans don't eat on the street, then remembering that I didn't care, not when my mouth was full of grease and potato and salt. Mmmm.

Saturday night I wrote an exquisite blog entry, full of imagery and turns of phrase that at least equaled those of the great writers in history.

And then blogger lost it for me.

I know you all weep for grief.

Well, here's the skinny of what I wrote: Saturday was Dae Boreum, the first full moon of the lunar year, and I went as a guest of the Foundation to a traditional Korean arts performance at the National Center for Traditional Korean Performing Arts.

If anyone makes it out to Seoul, while I'm here or not, you should check out getting tickets for the Saturday performances, which are offered at quite a low price (about $5 USD). The show I saw included several parts. One particularly neat one was a dance enacting a fabled story of a queen escaping from enemies by crossing a river on the backs of village women, who volunteered through their loyalty to the court. The woman dancing the part of the queen, dressed in scarlet robes, actually did walk on the other dancers' backs!

Another cool part was the four women, accompanied by the full set of court instruments, singing "Bright Moonlight," which exhorts the listeners to go the mountain and greet the moon.

Traditionally, you see, Korean villagers would climb the mountain nearest their village on Dae Boreum, and greet the moon with their wishes for the year.

Because it was a cloudy night, there was no moon to be seen on Saturday night. But the NCTKPA set the lobby of the performance hall up with memo pads and pencils, so that audience members could write down their wishes for the year, and pin them up on posts in the lobby.

After the show, the audience members practically ran out, blocking the egress of some of the performers, who were exiting out the audience doors. "How rude," I thought, but then I understood when I got outside; the NCTKPA had set up all those jotted wishes for the year in a large pyre in the middle of the plaza outside the building. Some audience members were plucked out and given large torches, and set the highly flammable straw ablaze.

The fire, which roared almost immediately into life, lit the plaza and toasted our faces -- so much so that we all backed away from it. Dancers and drummers began to circle the inflagration, and soon nearly all the audience was walking around their wishes, as those scribbled notes turned into flames, and into glowing embers afloat on the heat stream, and finally into ash melting into the moonless sky.
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Another tradition of the first full moon? Eat nuts. I've heard two differing reasons for this. One is to protect your skin from diseases in the coming year. The other is that if you crack the nuts with your teeth and then toss the shells away, you're dispelling evil spirits for the year.
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I saw my listening/reading and speaking tests today (just the rights and wrongs, not a final score), and I did fine. I'm not sure about the writing test I took this moroning, though (heh - a very apt slip, considering how I felt when I took it). But done is done.

Next part of the midterm process: speaking interviews on Thursday. My partner is a lovely 42-year-old Japanese nun who charmingly admitted today that her favorite place in Seoul is Lotte World, an amusement park.
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On top of all this testing nonsense, I am tasked with revising the school's advertisement to be placed in the Korea Herald, an English-language paper here. Just when I am feeling very, very unmotivated and would like to spend a day in bed. Yarlgh.