Epilogue

Yesterday at 8:50 Central time, I touched down on American soil.  And let me tell you something, reader-  I don't care what you think of the president, congress, the former president, war, abortion, gay marriage, taxes, or any issue at all-- the country I stepped out of O'Hare International Airport to find is the greatest country I have ever seen.  People were friendly and polite, and I knew I could drive for hundreds and hundreds of miles in any direction and find a diverse spread all sharing my language and national identity. 
If you've stuck with me until now, I'm more grateful than I can put in to words.  Knowing that people back home (or anywhere else, since I had readers in over 10 countries, would you believe that?) were somehow with me though everything I saw and did and endured and enjoyed-- that made it worth so much more to me.  The tough times were easier and the good times were better shared.  I learned a lot about the world, people, history, and culture. I learned a lot about myself, too.  Some of my opinions have changed (I could now see a case for gun control being a good thing), some of my opinions have been strengthened (I believe there is a Right way to treat another person, culture be damned), and all in all I understand myself better as well. 

A year living and teaching abroad is not something I would repeat, but it IS something that was good for me.  I will neither suggest that you should do it, not dissuade you from it if you're thinking about trying a similar adventure.  I will only suggest that you look back through and understand what it was to be an expatriate, a teacher, lonely, and in the company of foreign friends.  It really is an experience, going from historical battlefields to high-speed bullet-trains to the human barrage that is walking down a Seoul sidewalk.  It's character building.  It's resolve strengthening.  It's difficult.  It's fun.  It's adventure.  It's enlightening. 

To those who believe Korea is the Asian clone of the USA- you're right on a sampling level.  Korea has found specific assets of US culture (Taio Cruz and Ludacris sounds, baseball games) to latch onto in an attempt to emulate, and they throw themselves into it with gusto.  But the human interactions are so deeply ingrained in a way absolutely alien to an American ("Who are you?" is irrelevant there... they ask "who are you to me?") that I remained mystified living among them for the whole year. 

Again I say thank you for giving me someone to write to.  Everyone who has read this- you have helped me personally.  When I was sick and alone in the wintertime, exhausted but proud after black-belt tests, or ready to make a last stand against a mafia attack that never came-- it was better knowing I could share it afterwards.

That brings this adventure to its close.  But only this particular adventure.  One thing I have learned about myself with certainty is that I have an appetite for exploration, travel, and challenge that isn't going to be sated simply by teaching abroad for a year.  There will be more to come someday.  For now, though, I've flown back the 14 Hours and returned to my World.  Before I say goodbye, though, I want to leave you with something that was running through my head the last month of my trip.  You know how we warrior-poets are.

The Road Home

A youth with but a score of years
that in his book could scawl
set off with road beneath his soles
to see and challenge all.

His ship did sail and forge a tale
as months to seasons flew
he saw the castles' yawning gates
took tea at temples, too.

But from contagion's Northlands beathed
cold shadows, storm and war.
He saw fires swell as torrents fell
in earthen tides and seas that rise,
strange eyes were warm no more.

And when his bones sank to the stones,
dust-tears in dimming eyes,
from creaking quay far, long away
he heard the seagull cries.

Godspeed! He found a vessel strong,
brae shanties filled his ears.
Her golden lanterns-- laughing souls,
spilled warmth of bygone years

Now icy spray bears swift this day
those bold hearts off to roam
but one soul sings atop the mast-
At last! The road to home!






Thanks for everything. 
Let's do this again some day.

Yours,
Jeff M. Davis.

Danger Days: the True Last Days of Jeff-Teacher.

Jeff-Teacher's log.  August 25, 2011.  1:13 a.m.
  I don't have much time left here in Korea.  I'm typing this sitting on my bed.  My room is bare.  Bare-er.  It seems like I'll never get everything out of here.  It's the middle of the night already, but I get up to check the locks again.  Both of them are still locked.  I return to the bed to make sure my kubotan spike (bought by me) and the Irish hurley (borrowed from a friend) are within arm's reach.  I'm ready.  I'm as armed as I can legally be in this country.  In addition to holding two weapons, I now AM two weapons, with a black belt in Taekwondo and Tukkong Musul, as of tonight.  Fourteen hours and a world.  That world is falling apart in front of me, as I daily get nearer to its end.  But I promise, I'm not going with it.  So to whoever comes to my door tonight-
 I have more fight in me tonight, than I've ever had in my life.

What, you may ask, has put me in such a fighting pose, written in such fighting prose?  Well, I'll tell you.
Rewind to a week ago.
A newer teacher at the school is as bad as they come.  As bad as they showing-up-drunk, beating-children-with-sticks, bragging-about-mob-connections come.  His stories of friends with sashimi knives are lackluster, compared to Capone or the Bloods, but being not very gangster myself, I find myself intimidated.  As my last day comes around, heralded by an angelic chorus parting the clouds to raise a Hallelujah banner, I begin asking for a plane ticket home.  My boss, behind on hiring a new teacher, begs for an extra week or two out of me, first appealing to my pity, then offering a hundred bucks when he finds none.  As you know, readers, I am an outspokenly strong fan of everything about Korea.  So I tell him no, I have future plans in the US, and I need to be going. 
Cue:  a private rooftop chat up a secluded stairwell with our mafioso villain.  The smoke of his cigarettes makes our hero cough.
The Villain informs the Hero that to allow an older person to beg a younger person for something, and then refuse, is an extreme dishonor in the Sobaek system of Confucian incredibly-important heirarchy.
This line of reasoning has little impact on our very Western Hero.
 He goes on to detail that the mob is involved in the Hagwon (private academy) system and likes things to run smoothly.
Fast forward to today.
Open in the office:  the Hero recieves his plane tickets- Incheon to Tokyo, 19 hour layover, Tokyo to Chicago.  The Villain saunters in and drapes himself dramatically across his desk, asking the Hero if he's happy now.  A contented reply from the Hero triggers a short Hannibal Lecture from the Villain detailing how the Hero is the most self-centered person the Villain has ever met.
We're not so different, he and I. 
Exit the Villain, stage right, while the audience gape in shocked silence.  Then after a quick return, full of gleeful smugness, the Villain offers his showstopper line:
"Hey Jeff, tonight I'm going to show you what a real Korean gangster looks like."

Cue a flurry of reporting to the boss, having the incident swept under the rug, denial by Korean witnesses, and a general overwhelming reaction of nothing.
Well 14hoursandaworld-ers, your intrepid hero is not one to lay down and die.  I have my month's pay.  I have my black belt.  I have my plane ticket.  I have some more pay to collect yet, and then I have a trip home to make.  I'm sitting here waiting for a pounding at the door that may or may not come, but if it does, I'm ready for it.  More ready than I ever would have been a year ago.
 I have hundreds and hundreds of hours of combat training, which came with the added benefit of knowing that I am more capable than I have ever believed.  I have a Hurley from wonderful, helpful friends (who tonight escorted me as a group over the half hour trip to get my black belt) I would never have met, had I not come here.  I have a Kubotan defense spike bought for a beautiful girl I might never have dated, had I not come here.  I have an incredible family and friends who have been there with me through everything this entire year while I've been here. 

I have all those things people live for. 

Never in my life have I appreciated more the things I have.  And I WILL keep them.  And I WILL return to them, safely. 

I will stand on American soil in eight days.

I'm coming home.

Jeff-Teacher
Jeff M. Davis.

On Being Human

Sometimes a traveler also explores their mind.
                     - Kino's Journey

The Year is almost finished.  My fourteen hours that lasted for twelve months are ending in less than twenty days.  You can bet I've given thought to being back with my family and my friends.  And my homeland-Ah to sail again on the sea of cornfields of the Great Plains!  Those Amber Waves of Grain are calling my name.  I'm excited to be back in the land where restaurants give you a drink with your meal...and they'll refill it if you finish.  I'm excited for all of those things that a world-weary young man ending his year of self-imposed exile would love.  But I have to admit something else to you here.  And if you've stuck with me and read 14Hours this entire year,  you're probably not easily offended, so I'm going to take a gamble and be open with you.

I'm excited to get back my humanity.

I'm sorry if that comes out rough.  Let me preface it by saying that I have met some people in Korea who would give good old Midwest hospitality a run for its money.  I've seen a young man out with his friends stop to help a drunken old man who had fallen in the road.  I've seen an older gentleman immediately give a young pregnant woman on the bus his seat (though he stood with a cane).  I've seen displays that would do hearts anywhere some good.

But now that I can be honest with you, I want to tell you about the other side I've seen this year, and how much it frightens me. 
Because you see, here, suffering is often just a way of life.  Kids play-fight back home, but there's a brutality to it here that jerks at my insticts, a stop this now.  Teachers hit students with a violence that has made me try to call for it to stop, before I even knew what I was doing.  Women often have finger-shaped bruises on their upper arms from either being roped into meeting men at booking clubs, or simply from an abusive boyfriend/husband.  The reality of a culture, a morality built on a strict structure of ranks is that if someone ranked above you abuses you, you simply endure it.  How do you know who outranks who?  Easy:  listen to what people say.  The language itself is such that you have to use the person's rank in things as small as your conjugation of verbs. 
The mindset becomes one of "Will I lose face among people I know for not caring about this person?"  The answer in public situations is often that you don't know the person and will probably never see them again.  And neither party is obliged to the other.  Which leads to a common conundrum: No one is enforcing your obligation to me, nor mine to you.  So both of us simply act careless of the other.  You drop your keys on the crowded bus next to me, and though I could easily reach them and help you, I don't.  I'm sick and tired and have been travelling all day, but you get through the train line before me and rush to the seat, then plug in your headphones and make no eye contact.  A parent's child screams and runs around a restaurant, but rather than discipline the child and worry about the other disturbed guests, the parent continues to eat and talk with friends.  It becomes so simple as two people walking will push right through each other, with neither offering an "excuse me". 
Is it awful?  There are two reasons I find this awful.  The first reason is that at one point I wholeheartedly believed this mindset.  The world was big out there, there were tons of people, and who cared if I inconvenienced someone I'd never see again?  I had nothing to gain from helping a stranger, it would only slow me down.  Likewise, I didn't expect help from strangers.  The world was a slick, icy place, and I had found the fastest pair of skates.  But something changed this year-  I left the Midwest.  In Korea, that mindset is EVERYwhere.  And it's completely mortifying to see a society espouse that mindset without a second thought.  I wholeheartedly admit I was wrong for having thought anything to this end. 
So....great!  Korea was actually good for me.  Made me a better person.  Now's the time where I turn to the camera and give a short monologue about doing good for others, regardless of personal gain.  Except there's no music swells, no heartfelt hug,  no fade to black with credits roll afterward. 
The harsh reality is that the movie doesn't end there.  Things get worse.  Now that I've decided to care about the welfare of strangers, the enormity of the wrongness here is even more unsettling.  Every husband slapping a wife around is culturally-approved unhappiness I can't fix--and no one else here seems to find it wrong.  Every person who pushes their way to the front of the line is an unfairness to those who were waiting, and everyone else accepts it as normal.  They say the mark of a person who has lost his sanity is often that he thinks everyone else has gone mad.

Well, I've not been one to be crazy.  The awful truth is that I scurry to my seat in the train, even if other people might need the seat.  I let the door close on the person behind me without holding it.  I don't move out of the way to let someone through a line, because i know my spot will be taken.  Even knowing all these things are wrong, Korea puts those who live within its culture in a position where you have the option of sacrificing your humanity one small portion at a time, or becoming a doormat to everyone who does.  And yes there are pushy people in the Western World.  But even on the streets of Chicago or New York City, I never saw anything like this. 

So what would you trade your humanity for?  A train seat?  The last bus to your apartment?  A job? 
It'll be good to come home. 

Dreaming of Airports again,
Jeff-Teacher

Harry Potter and the Grownup World

        Something happened to my generation this weekend.  Something that can never un-happen.  And it's frightening and sad and intangible and a little unexpected, but it unquestionably happened. 
And this thing is the end of our collective childhood.  What makes me so sure of this cutoff?
That would be the real end of the Harry Potter saga.
True, they're just movies, and true, I'd known the ending of the story for years, but there's no question that when those credits rolled after the epilogue, something was done.  This story we'd all grown up on was at last done being told.  Some of us are young enough that we were read the story at first.  Some of us are old enough that we stooped to "children's books" to read this story that everyone else was talking about.  I was personally above the stupid story about the nerdy kid who was actually a wizard-- until, that is, I actually read it.  Wherever we were when it happened, The Boy Who Lived is the story of our childhood.  Its the story of a child who was totally unremarkable being pushed forward into a big world that was alluring and unfamiliar.  This world was a magnificent place, full of wonder and excitement, but not without danger.  Truly in 2003, when I was reading of a faceless enemy attacking the home of the heroes I'd come to see as Us, when I read of parents unsure whether to send their children back to school in dark times, I couldn't help but realize that Order of the Phoenix was a story of my own time.
I saw an ordinary boy dragged by chance into the grandest adventure told in my lifetime, saw him grow as a hero and a person while he juggled exams and relationships, and finally saw him confront an enemy that literally was a part of himself.  And the next thing you know, the three children I grew up with are adults.  The credits closed to black and one thing was absolutely clear. 
The mythology of my childhood was finished.
Now what are we supposed to do?  We can't find a new legend like Harry Potter to throw our whole culture into-- such devotion and delusion are unbefitting people who have reached adulthood.  We've lost the ability to be told a story.
And the music swells in minor, running helplessly down the slow strings of a violin. But all hope is not lost.  Because, you see, when we become adults we may lose the ability to be held rapt by tales of magic.  But we gain the ability to live our own high adventure.  Children sit safe in their rooms and live vicariously through bedtime stories-- adults travel the world.
Do I honestly think actually just going somewhere in the real world is equal to the magic and adventure of the Hero's Journey of Harry Potter? 
Without a doubt, yes.
There is mystery and wonder for lifetimes out here.  Anyone who knows about what happens inside the Large Hadron Collider knows there is magic.  If it's adventure you're after, take a trip to Komodo- the dragons there may not breathe fire, but they're much more likely to stalk you for days for a taste of your flesh.
So, class of '11, the point that (Hogwarts class of '11) I'm struggling to make without sounding like a graduation speaker is this: 
My generation hasn't lost anything with the end of the Harry Potter saga.  They were wonderful stories.  And some day I will pass them on to children (or flush with pride some night when I catch my children reading Harry Potter sitting by their nightlight because I told them "lights out" an hour ago).  But those stories are confined to the page, an imitation of a real adventure.  There's real adventure out there to be had.   Harry Potter has taught me a few things about how to meet that adventure, but I don't need yearn for his story- mine will be be real.
Have a look into the Pensieve for a moment.  Eighty years before Harry Potter, in a time that had very little in common besides the popularity of round spectacles, there was another literary character who surged to popularity in the English-speaking world.  Hopefully the longevity of this character says good things for the unforgettable Harry Potter, but it's what this character had to say for himself that I want to share with you now.

 Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content. Let teachers and priests and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.

These words come from Robert E. Howard's character, Conan the Barbarian in 1934.  I learned recently that this story is coming out as a new movie this year.  I'm not surprised.  The message here is clear, universal, and endlessly part of the human spirit:  No story can be told that is greater than the experience of life.
 And we only get one shot at that.
 It's my turn to step into the night, with or without Dumbledore, and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.


Jeff-Teacher

(I realize this was a little short on Korea-stories.  Don't worry, the adventure continues next time as I'll tell you what Korean history has taught me about how I should live to become a legend.)



Incheon: it's French for 'Dark', I've heard

Two weeks now since we seen the sun.  You'd think it got up in the morning, took one look at this city and called in sick, every day.  Whadda we get?  Rain. The kinda rain that runs in rivers for miles, and never cleans anything off the streets of this concrete jungle.  And the people all hide away from it, like it'll dirty them up next.  It's like everyone out there traded in their heads for these awful black umbrellas.  City that never smiles.
Yeah, I been gone a month or so, who's askin?  Why?  There was this dame.  We boarded a plane, ran for Jeju-- the Island of the Gods--that's what they called it, see.  The place where three gods in some story came outta holes in the ground and started the country or something like that.  Started by gods, run by politicians.  Somewhere in that history book, there's gotta be a mistranslation.   After all, how do you live with a history like that?  Sure, if you told everyone nowadays your great-grandpa popped out of a hole in the ground and said "let there be Korea", they'd put you away!  Nothin.
The island was a lovely place, if you like your fish and you like it still smiling at you.  Pretty enough to be in pictures, yeah it's somethin.  But it all comes from a volcano, and they know it.  That the world itself said "to hell with this place, let's see what kinda pretty fire it can make!"  and just like that, *pow*, a million postcard shops were born.  The attitude stayed, though.  One night it was, the lady and I were hoping to find a nice place, inside somewhere, where the jazz was free and the drinks were smooth.  Or the other way around, either woulda been nice.  Whatever it was, the two of us walked in arm in arm, and it was like the piano itself went out for a smoke break.  The room got quiet.   Only the ice in a glass moved, and even that got itself a dirty look for its troubles.  A waitress sauntered over, all painted up like she was the best tourist attraction in town.  Her co-workers had taken one look at us and dropped outta sight.  Guess she'd drawn the short straw.
"Sorry," she quipped, with a downright admirable imrpession of sincerity, "we don't serve your kind."  Figures.  Isn't that how life goes?  Just when you think you'd found a nice place, it turns out you found a real place instead.  We eventually did find a place that'd let us in from the rain.  The steaks were better there, too.
But life never stays away, like you'd hope it would.  A week of fine food, music, and that crazy-cold mist that even tropical islands can set into your bones come nightfall...and work was calling me back.

Name's Jeff M. Davis.  I'm a teacher.  It'd say that on my door, if I had a door of my own.  Trouble is (and believe me, trouble always is) the world isn't as kind to us private folk as it used to be.  A man hardly can get to work without the calls coming in already- dissatisfied customers, outraged clients-- you're never half the teacher they wanted you to be, and they're always payin you half what a teacher outta be paid.  I spend my mornings and evenings in the gyms- daytime on the nice side of town, nighttime in a place where little old ladies don't walk their poodles alone.  In a world like this, a man's gotta know how to do for himself if some toughs jump outta an alley.  Got myself one black belt, and may even have two in a month.   But who am I kiddin?  Nothing exciting ever happens here in the rain.

Oh and don't forget, if the rain doesn't get ya, the heat will.  Times like these, the summer even drives the flies indoors.  Tough luck for me.  Tougher for the flies.  Air conditioners and freezers gasp like a chump who got given the long walk off a short pier, if you read what I'm sayin.  So when this dame showed up at my door, all the way from America with a proposition, I was all ears.  Pictures, it turned out, was what she had in mind, the kind you see in the cinemas.   Somethin to do indoors when the summer's waiting for you outside with a Chicago typewriter and a lousy attitude
"Sweetheart," I questioned her, "where am I supposed to get the money to buy all these movies you're talking about?  What would ya have me do, knock over Fort Knox?"  She laughed dangerously, leaning across the doorway to answer.  The single bare lightbulb cast her shadow into the hall, throwing off curves that'd make a major league pitcher cry. 
"Who said anything," she came back with a half a smile and even less conscience, "about buying?" 
Turns out I'm in the best place in the world for movies, and not the kind you can see on the silver screen.  No, in a place with a connection this fast, and copyright laws as loose and wild as they are, seems a fella couldn't ask for a better time and place to try his hand at downloading.  So she just has ta ask, and the films come flowing in.  Now I'm doin pretty well, I see her on the weekends, when she's finished her classes, take her out to a nice restaurant, then hold the umbrella while she gets in a cab.  After that I catch the last midnight train to Incheon, my city that never smiles, back the the apartment with the bare bulb swinging and the computer humming as the tide of movies creeps higher.

Well, that's the truth, or near about as I can make it.  I may have embellished a few details, but that's my job, after all.  I'm a teacher.  Says so on my door.  Or it would, if i had one.




P.S. This fourth of July, have a bourbon for America.  Make it a double and have one for me, too.

Deception!

So I've been holding back a tale of intrigue for just the right time.
Because I have made you wait long enough, now is that time.
Relax a while, reader, as I weave a tale of intrigue shadier than a ... shady....shade.

You remember, of course, the boss I mentioned at the beginning of the year?  The wounded military veteran professional gambler with a few aggravating traits?
 I read the book American Shaolin a week ago, and it mentioned that in Asian societies (specifically Chinese, but applicable elsewhere), feelings are not expressed at surface level, so that a man can get a leg up on everyone else around him.  And no one asks whether a person is lying, they ask why he is lying.
Well, fresh off the plane midwestern me was not worldly enough to know these details intimately.  So when my boss would tell me about himself (and I could put down my bible and apple pie long enough to listen), it never occurred to me that he was telling anything but the truth.  But after he left, about a month ago, the truth began to come out.

His Masters in English? 
From a nonexistent university in England.

Wait a minute, I cried, he actually did live in England!
As it turns out, he did.  He fled the country with his uncle who was under suspicion of drug charges, while still in high school.  Meaning not only did he never get that masters degree, he may've never had a diploma either.

But he MUST have had some value as a teacher!  As soon as he left, students started to quit the school.
Word began to come in from parents a few weeks later, that before he left, this man had told the parents that the other teachers at my school lacked college degrees.  Sinister.  But not as sinister as insinuating that the NEW school he was starting would  be run by he himself who they could trust.  Can you almost feel the snake oil?

Finally, A new teacher that had been called in right as he was leaving had been quiet around me.  Not unusual.  We didn't primarily communicate in the same language, so that's normal, right?
Turns out, he'd told her I didn't talk to her because I looked down on her English skills.

Turned the staff against each other?  Check.
Turned the students against the staff?  Affirmative.
Bamboozled everyone with forged documents?  You got it
Funneled the runoff into his own school?  Perfectly
Step five?  Profit.

Also that "pro gambler " thing was actually just him having a betting problem.

Am I upset about all this?  You bet I am! 
I was working under a Master of the Art all along and had no idea because I didn't speak the language!  Oh the disappointment!  There was so much I should've been learning!  I mean, he's not a TRUE master because he was found out, but that's still a stunning amount of bluffing your way past everyone.  The saying in the school now is that the only truth ever heard from his mouth was the sound of breathing, and we're still checking the certificates on that.

So that's good news.  My story needed a villain.   A plot twist of sorts, so that everyone can go back the the scene selection on the 14HoursAndAWorld DVD and go "oooooh yeah, I totally saw this coming".


While we're on the subject of deception, there one other cruel trick I'd like to point out, and it's more general, and not leveled at a single person.  Because it's leveled at a group, it may sound like I'm generalizing.
I am.
I do. 
I will continue to do so. 
I'm sure you can find exceptions to my generalizations, but they are based on observations.  Never fabrications.  Wow, Jeff-poet, congratulations.

Anyway, I saw this comic recently

The accuracy is astounding.  Even down to the granny-perm and tracksuit.  And it made me pause to think.  I have been told that Waygooks (us foreign people) look old more quickly than Koreans.  Which brought up the idea of aging gracefully- it seems to be rarer here.  Aging seems less like a gradual adding of laugh lines and crows feet and senility, and more like one day the Wisdom delivery truck arrives but it crashes directly on them while making its delivery.  That may be in part due to the harder life lived here and later retirement age, but either way, one thing jumped out at me.

I do see many foreign men here take local girlfriends.  However, when I see a man in his fifties walking with his Korean wife, rarely do I stop and think "He chose....wisely". 

So I believe I've found the cruelest deciever of them all, and that's beauty. 

Don't despair, men in the audience!  Yes, you can still choose a beautiful girl and be happy with her.  But the moral of the story is- you should check out her mother first.  Maybe get some indication of whether she's going to keep that lovely figure when she-- ok you're checking her mother out for too long.   Yes, everyone can see what you're doing.  But in all seriousness-- Safeguard yourselves with this one simple check.  Just long enough to make sure there's no granny perm should be fine.

Til next time
Jeff-Teacher

Americanism Part II, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Overpaying

Last week I talked about what living in Korea has taught me about being an American, and I hinted that I might have some more about American values for you this week.  Well, I am a man of my word, so here's the heart-stopping conclusion! I'll begin with a couple thoughts about Korea.

So I went shopping this week. For a birthday present for my little sister. I ended up with a nice enough (though trinkety) little thing and, full of myself for another successful present purchase, I asked the cashier the price. He rattled off a nonchalant Korean number, and (after processing what it was he meant), I was very surprised. Surely he couldn't have meant THAT much. He did. I looked at the gift in my hand. Yep. It was still the same one, the one I wanted to give my sister. I paid and walked out without so much as a regretful should-I-or-shouldn't-I. Later, on the street, I saw similar gifts being sold at a much lower cost. Similar, but not quite the same. Clearly, the one I had bought was not superior enough to merit the price difference, but I found myself absolutely not caring. The money meant little to me. I wanted the one I had, and I had enough money for it. The specifics were a non-issue.

And just tonight, I watched a man in a business suit walking in front of me down the street plug a nostril and blow his nose across the sidewalk. Repeatedly, and without a backward glance, he purged his nasal passages all over the walkway until he was satisfied, then walked on. Such occurrences are commonplace here, as it's not unusual to see Koreans hawk up and spit in internal walkways in buildings. So recently I've decided- by the time I leave this place, I will have developed the vocabulary to inform the practitioners of the phlegmatic arts that this is not only disgusting and dirty, but rude to all around. After announcing my intention to a friend, I was rebuffed with a phrase I've often heard (but rarely stopped to consider)- It's not worth it. I've always found this phrase strange. If I'm able to do something about a problem, whether or not I'm guaranteed success (and indeed, in this situation I'm guaranteed failure, since I can't really stop this practice altogether), then the right thing to do is to do my part to fix the problem. Yes it may cost me time, effort, money, or a potential friend in the form of that Korean businessman I’ve just offended-- but the practice is not a good way for people to go about life, and I have the capability to begin combating it-- so I don't see any other option but to act.

Prepare yourself for this next part if you are easily offended, or if you have been on mars since about 1776. It may shock you with its offensive stereotypes and sweeping generalizations.

Americans

Are not known for being

Very savvy

Tourists.

They routinely overpay for things that any local (or really, even foreigners from other countries) would look at and ask “Are you crazy? There's absolutely no way that little tourist toy is worth even half of what you just paid for it.”

There, I've said it. Have I started any fights yet?

Even though you, noble Reader, are probably the exception to the rule, the One American who Proves they're Not All the Same, it's hard to disagree that the stereotype exists. American tourists tend to be favorite prey for tourist traps because they know the Americans can and will pay whatever prices they set. And why is that? Because they routinely say things like

“Oh I know it's only a paper figure of a tortoise, honey, but it's a Mexican paper tortoise. We can't get those back home. What's twenty dollars going to hurt? We're on vacation!”

How did this come to be? How did a nation born with the value of Thriftiness carved into its psyche come to be the nation known for outlandish expenditure?

The answer to that question was best articulated by English author Philip Pullman who wrote “If you can, and you should, then you must”. America is a nation blessed with the land, population, and natural resources to create, build, and spend on levels the world has never seen. This was publicized to the assembled spectators of nations worldwide in 1907 when President Theodore Roosevelt ordered the circumnavigation of the globe by the Great White Fleet, America's capital ships. Essentially the entire American navy was painted white for high visibility, and set out to visit the nations of the world as they steamed all the way around the globe. Excessively expensive, an operation that committed the full function of the U.S. Navy to a mission that didn't require any combat. Nevertheless, President Roosevelt had decided that the United States had reached a point where it should show the world that it was a global power. And because power was projected internationally at that time by naval forces, the way to do it was a naval world tour. Being full of the prosperity that would last until the Great Depression, they also had the cashflow to do so. With the funding, he realized they can. With the need to bring his growing nation into a place on the global stage, he realized they should. Can. Should. Must. So they did.

Today, the United States is the largest military spender in the world, coming in at about six times the expenditure of second-place China, and with higher total military spending than the next 20 ranked nations combined. It seems we still buy into the idea that if we can and we should, then we must. Of course, this philosophy has its ups and downs- we can and should do many things for which we have the money, it just means we have to give up money elsewhere. But a decision maker bent on doing the right thing can't dismiss an opportunity because it has a cost or a commitment. I would challenge you to think of a reason that includes the words “it's difficult” to avoid doing the right thing in a situation where you have the power to do so. Now try to say that reason without making a pouty-face.

So yes, the gift I bought my sister does not have the same value as the cash I paid for it. And no, I do not expect to clean up the streets for my efforts with nose-blowers. But both are worthwhile causes, and within my capability to pay the cost.

Last week, when Osama bin Laden was killed by US Navy SEALS, I heard a minority outcry online. Many were reticent about a victory that had cost the US massive amounts of money, soldiers, and political capital. “Was it worth it?” was the rallying cry taken up on Facebook statuses that day. However, I stand behind the efforts of Presidents Bush and Obama, both of whom understood that the removal of World Enemy Number One from the Earth was something that should be done. And both knew very well that United States could do it given time, men, and money. Because as Americans, our spirit is not one of “Is it within my price range?” It's a spirit of “Is it good? And am I able?”

Can. Should. Must.

'Til next time,

Jeff-Teacher

Wagon Train to the East

A year removed from your homeland puts you in a unique position. As a foreigner living in a strange new world, all of the differences between the home you left and the new world are lit up with miniature spotlights. You're able to see things the locals take for granted and wonder why and how their society lives the way it does. I've had plenty such musings this year on subways, metal chopsticks, rudeness, pepper-flavored peppers, and the Hangul alphabet. And all of these insights have been truly helpful to understanding my place in the world.

But this week I realized something was missing from this year of discovery. Yes, an American living in Korea is able to see clearly the little-things of life that a Korean would dismiss as ordinary, because they are the addition of something unfamiliar. But this American would also notice, for the first time, the absence of many things he had simply taken for granted as part of life in America. Taking time to think on this subject this week, I've learned a lot about what it is to be American.

In many ways, my year in Korea has been the most American year of my life.

Allow me to explain.

America is a land founded by those who made a similar leap to mine. They knew only that opportunities existed across the sea that did not exist back home. The Mayflower was a ship full of people who left their native land behind for myriad reasons, the most prevalent of which were either idealistic (Puritans seeking religious freedom), or economic (about half of the passengers had simply taken the offer to ply their trade in the new world and were in fact paid to go to America.) They would, of course, suffer the hardships of an undeveloped land, but most brought their friends and family along for company.

The English teachers who have come to Korea also fall into these two categories, though not as evenly. Many do come with a passion for the teaching itself, making the trip because they have a strong desire to be one of the educators of the system. Many more, however, end up like the barrel-makers aboard the Mayflower: lacking in good opportunities back home, these teachers take an acceptable amount of money to take the one thing they are able to do well and leap-of-faith across the sea.

Of course, the experience of leaving behind the Europe of their time was changing for the very character of American society. Europe had nobility, philosophers, and orchestras. And as Frederick Jackson Turner noted in his Frontier Thesis, the character of the settlers became something new- something that , while keeping the Puritan values of simplicity, devotion, and thriftiness, was notably more violent and hardy, with many of the trappings of native life. Similarly, American English teachers here are often viewed as a rowdy element of America, who occasionally drink too much or pick fights in the pubs. But they learn and adapt every day. They take on the clothing styles, hairstyles, language, foods, and customs of the natives here, many of which would seem unseemly to the civilized world from which they had come (for one, they learn to eat the local foods by taking bites much larger than their mothers would've allowed at the dinner table back home).

Of course the metaphor of leaving Europe for America is an imperfect one, because it ends with the Boston tea party and some war. And because I don't fancy dressing in a Hanbok and dumping crates of Budweiser into Incheon harbor, I'm going to skip my metaphor ahead a few hundred years to when Americans were Americans, and the frontier was no longer the New World, but the West.

The time of Manifest Destiny was a time of opportunity and disappointment. Many in America were finding the America Dream held very little actual promise for them, were they to stay in their cities and work in a factory. The good news was twofold, however; the Homestead Act, promising them land and a place out West- all they had to do was give up whatever lives they had been living and take up the new career of farming; and the Gold Rush, tantalizing the dream-frustrated Americans with the promise of a new fortune and a new life if they'd just give gold mining a try. Once again, as before, Americans jumped at the call. They squeezed their lives and families into covered wagons, bringing only supplies and their now evolved values of hard work, determination, and the dream of riches, and set sail again. They sailed this time across the Great Plains instead of the Atlantic. Many of them had been failed by the system in which they lived, and conversely many had failed at the system. Regardless of the reason, they were off again. Somewhere beyond the Western horizon a new life waited. How could they stay?

Our times are not so different. Many students do finish college to find that their American Dream is not what once was promised. Many have put in their time, work, and money and come away with working degrees only to find that the jobs aren't there. These have been failed by the system. Some finish college and then don't find the work they'd wanted, or have a degree that's insufficient to get them into the promised dream. Sadly, this writer falls into that category, having a degree that's insufficient on its own, without significant effort put into the actual obtaining of a career. Whatever the reason, one day these unfulfilled graduates glimpse an offer they can't refuse. Maybe they see a job advertisement online, maybe they hear a rumor that so-and-so will be moving to Asia to be a teacher. And like the Homesteaders who saw the advertisements tacked on the general store walls, or the would-be miners who heard whispered rumors of prospectors who had struck it rich before, they were off into the sunset.

Trading wooden ships and Conestoga wagons for carry-on bags and 747s may not have the romance of sailing or riding into the unknown. But somewhere in it is a universal truth, and I believe that grain of truth to be something found in Manifest Destiny.

Manifest Destiny was the belief that America not only could spread from New England to the Pacific, but that it should. And not only that it should, but that it must. American spirit was forged in such a unique experience- becoming a civilized nation while still living on the Wild Frontier of the known world- that Americans need that journey as part of their life. That is the reason there is something so alien about seeing a Korean marry his sweetheart and move back in with his parents, who still live with his grandparents after having moved back in themselves decades ago. Manifest destiny dictates not only that Americans feel the need to make the journey, but that they bring something worthwhile with them when they do so. I'll touch on this assertion in next week's blog- that there's an American value worth spreading at any price. But for now, the journey is what's important.

Almost four hundred years ago, my 14^th-great-grandfather spoke to a small, frightened group of people soon to board a flimsy little ship that would be remembered forever. The ship was headed for a world these brave souls had never seen, and they needed his guidance to make the trip. Many generations, many wars, many cities and inventions after the Mayflower made its mythic voyage, after the closing of the last frontier, how could the founding fathers have known that alabaster cities gleaming far away would relentlessly call their descendents West? The spirit of Manifest Destiny didn't die at the Pacific Ocean, as Frederick Jackson Turner thought. It just waited there until Boeing could catch up.

O beautiful, for Patriot dream, that sees beyond the years.

Its been a good week to be American,

Jeff-Teacher

American Hwarang

Today's update begins hundreds of years ago, really, with the foundation of a group called the Hwarang.  In the 5th century, the King of Silla (in what would later become Korea) would recruit young men from good families into an elite group he called Hwarang.  Hwarang means a Flower Knight, a young man who is progressing to adulthood with an added nobility to his already respectable rank. 

The Hwarang left their homes for places of great natural beauty.  There they learned the arts of combat, studied philosophy, and practiced emotional and mental control in these places-- searching for inspiration in the strange, beautiful locales of Korea.  The land and the warrior culture played as a rich muse to them, and through them was developed the tradition of the warrior-intellectuals of Korea. 

Hwarang culture believed a young man should be able to defeat countless enemies in combat, write poetry that could stun royal courts to silence, ride faster than simple men would believe, sing and dance before a crowd, and appreciate and debate the finer points of the great works of philosophy and literature.  

 Hwarang were regarded as the most effective soldiers on the battlefield.

The greatest writers of their time.

And finally, as teachers.

As anyone who has seen a movie set in Asia will know, the cherry-blossoms are an important part of this culture.  And for good reason.  It's at the time of the cherry-blossom festival that my story here begins.

It was the time of year for a change of pace.  I was two-thirds of the way through, an important milestone.  Finished were the months of black coats shivering through white wind.  With the flowering trees, spring was actually starting, and the breeze brought the smell of it.

Anyone who has lived in a place long enough to see it in bloom will recognize immediately the smell of their town in the summer.  You may not even realize it, but when the first spring breeze arrives -- the first time the wind feels soft instead of vicous, anyone will remember--

"...that's right, my world smells like this.  I can't believe I'd forgotten."

So it was here, when the rain was finally refreshing, not icy, that the spring-smell brought what I realized with shock was nostalgia.  I had, in fact, lived here long enough to be able to look back and wistfully remember old times here. 

Spring.

Huh.

I needed a haircut.

Something trendy and Korean.  Something that'll take a little more work each day, but in this part of the world at least, there's no excuse for not looking good.

With spring going all around, it was time for another change-  time to see if all of my martial arts were going to pay off.   

On saturday, I arrived at the Dojang at 8:00 a.m., and had one final practice before joining thirteen other candidates for Taekwondo testing at the Kukkiwon

We all rode out from our school together, through the unbelievably hectic interstates that make up Korea's highway system.  The assistant master drove through the onslaught of traffic.  At one point we were cut off by a car that dove in just a few feet in front of us, screeching on its brakes.  Our car was in the next lane, out of harm's way before I even realized the danger.  No one else seemed even remotely surprised.  I suppose I shouldn't have been either.  As we got closer, we encountered students from our rival school, Yong In Dae, riding ahead of us, pictured above.

 The testing facility was a massive dome, whose stands were a sea of white uniforms.  Imagine going to your favorite sporting event, but the outnumbered audience is on the field, and all the bleachers are full of the athletes. 

 Featured prominently, hanging from the ceiling was the Korean flag.  My teacher (pictured above) explained how I would be tested. 

 First, I would stand before a panel of judges and perform the TaeGuk forms and kicks required, along with all of the other candidates

 Then, candidates would equip themselves with sparring gear and fight two short rounds with another candidate as an opponent, while being graded on their performance.

 Finally, each candidate would be asked to punch his or her way through a board, held by black belts who had already passed the test.

This is the general protocol, but it glossed over the details.
First, the massed ranks pictured performing the forms were young students testing for their junior black belts(black and red).  Hundreds tested at the junior level, testing for their poom belts.  I was testing for a true adult black belt (black).  And only four candidates were testing in the adult, dan, category.
Second, my sparring opponent was not who I had expected.  He wasn't a steely-eyed, military-bound, Bruce-Lee-type.  He wasn't a he at all.  I had been matched up against the only female candidate in the adult level, and the president of my school instructed me beforehand to decrease my power for the fight while still demonstrating all my skill, because that is the expected manner for a male candidate facing a female.
Finally, after watching each other candidate punch through a board, I was fairly confident, and broke mine with ease.  The observing official then commanded the holder double the boards and try again.

The flowering trees were in full bloom as we arrived back at the academy in the warm midday sunshine.  It will be another ten days until I know for certain if I can claim the rank of black belt, I learned as we drove home.  But the master and assistant master of InHa Elite briefed me on (what they considered) my successful performance.

I had complete both forms and all the kicks-- without the speed of some of the other candidates, but with a certainty and power which they told me many Taekwondo practitioners unfortunately lack.

I had shown good skill in my sparring match, being the clear victor.  But I had also showed control of my actions and restraint

And I had easily turned the single and double boards into double and quadruple half-boards.  In this test, at least, I was truly confident in my performance.  I owe a wizened sage of the martial arts in Ames, Iowa a great deal of gratitude for the speed and power of those punches.

While I'm still not certain I will have the official stamp of approval of the Kukkiwon board, I do know that I have learned many things about the martial arts in these eight months of training.  I've learned to fight faster and sharper, and with greater ease and balance than ever before. 

If you look at the Korean flag, you'll notice that their yin-yang symbol isn't black and white like the Chinese variant- it's blue and red.  The blue and red are the two different sides of the human personality: passion and thought.  In the final days before my testing, I was told by my teacher that I am someone who fights with passion.  For this reason, at the insistence of the master, I fought for my school, my belt, my pride, and my future in armor and a headguard that were unquestionably, strikingly, perfectly

Red.

To Combat,

Jeff M. Davis

And happy Easter from the land of the Hwarang.

Teacher?

I've done a lot of talking on here.  I've talked as a traveller about the sights of Korea.  I've talked as a ninja, about the new and interesting ways I daily learn to make badguys' faces go ouchie.  I've even talked as a poet about being inspired by a fantastical land.  But none of those are really my job. 
So this week I'm going to take a little break from all of those and do something Jeff-teacher should've been doing on here long ago:  teach language. 
First of all, let me be frank with everyone.  Every (especially monolingual) English speaker needs to know something that will be absolutely vital to today's lesson:
English
Is
Complicated.
Yes, we've all got it figured out.  And we use it unbelievable amounts every day.  Some of us may even be quite good at it.  I know I aspire to hold that title.  And through a good deal of practicing writing and speaking, I've come to be pretty darn competent at speakin Amurrican.  The problem, however, comes when a student doesn't ask me HOW to make a sentence, but why I phrased it that way.  Here, you know what?  Let me show you

Take this sentence:
I would like to have gotten a black belt by the time I leave.

The subject of this sentence is fairly obvious- I.  the sentence is about me.
There are two nouns in here, time, and black belt.
Verbs?  Now we get into trouble
would like, have gotten, leave.  A sentence describing a single action takes five verbs?  uh oh.
not to mention all the 'to's and 'the's and 'a's with which English loves to garnish such magnificent spreads.

And why do we say "have gotten" and not "have"?
well, one describes the act of acquiring the belt, the completion of training, the other is just a state of being in possession of---
And if you had tried to answer this question in this manner, your 12 year old Korean student's eyes would've glazed over, before rewarding you with a meek "ok"  and returning to her seat.

When you try to put the whole picture together for every sentence, the question of why we phrase things the way we do becomes more and more daunting, as you realize that almost everything you know about English, you just know. 
Great.
Now teach.

Possibly (read: certainly without a doubt) compounding the problem is the inherent vagueness in much of the Korean language.  As with last time, I'll give you an example.  I was studying my Korean textbook with my language exchange partner this weekend, when I came across a sentence whose every word I could translate.  For all the help that did me, the sentence may as well have been in Aramaic.
It read, literally,
Movie like.
I asked my language partner, what does that mean?  She was surprised I couldn't understand, after all, the words were English now.

It means, she told me, like movie.

Like movie?  These two words are insufficient to carry meaning in English, and could mean all manner of things.
I like this movie.
I would like a movie.
I like movies (Korean words are often ambiguous as to singular or plural)
Do you like movies? (there is no subject in the Korean sentence).
I had to supply several sentences in English relating to the topic before a meaning could be discovered (it did in fact mean I like movies)

Of course, English speakers often speak in incomplete sentences (see the game last night?), but this is only in casual conversation.  Textbook Korean is indeed this vague. 
So the next time I curse helping verbs, or the present continuous tense in English, it might be a good reminder for me to again appreciate whether I movie like.

I'd like to make a final note here before signing off.  I recently had an international study brought to my attention that showed Korean students as the single group who graduated with the lowest social skills of all the countries surveyed.  And when you think about it, they never really had a chance at this competition.

• Most of the students I've met, starting at middle school, are in all boys or all girls schools, because having the opposite sex in class detracts from studying
• Students' regulated haircuts and uniforms are to prevent- you guessed it- appearances from distracting from study
• Students in class are conditioned not to take initiative in discussion, but to instead sit passively and note-take
• When offered the choice between training in multiple choice test-taking skills and training in better speaking and writing, the students will choose the test skills (in my experience) because their speaking and writing skills will not get them into a university or a job, their test skills will. 

So essentially a group of students who are actively prevented from learning to talk to the opposite sex, learning to dress and groom themselves independently, learning to speak in class, and learning to speak and write their own ideas at all are being pitted against the western world's students in exactly these categories. 
Are you surprised at all?   Would you go to the Kentucky derby and bet on a fish?  (a consistent individual will have the same answer to those two questions, for the record).
The counter may be made by those who have seen the international reports that Americans are consistently outscored by Koreans on fair globalized, standardized tests- that socializing is nice, but Korean students graduate much better prepared to achieve high-paying jobs.  To everyone who bemoans the diminishing ability of American graduates to keep up with their better educated peers in the East, I offer a single, simple reminder, a third test if you will, to the socially skilled American and the academically skilled Korean

And this test will take place in a job interviewer's office.


If you can't baffle them with your brilliance, bedazzle them with your BS,
Jeff-Teacher

Ninja Level Up!

Well, it's about that time, wouldn't you say?
What time IS it, Jeff-teacher?



It's ninja time.

Have you ever wanted to be a ninja?  You could win any fight with a pack of lions, hide in the shadows behind a drinking fountain, leap as if you could fly, balance on a blade of grass, fly, teleport, and walk on water.  You would have tiger blood AND Adonis DNA.  You could stare down Chuck Norris and his beard would strangle him in panic.  You would be a Jedi, a Knight Templar, a Man in Black, all in The Matrix.  You would be able to teleport EVEN MORE pop culture references into this paragraph.   Matt Damon.

Well, everybody may not be kung fu fighting, but your intrepid teacher/poet/blogger/fashionplate sure has been.  The world is long overdue for a glimpse into the secret ninja schools of Korea.  This glimpse will roundhouse kick your face off.

Taekwondo:
We're into the final month of my training now, with the test fast approaching on April 23rd.  I have learned every form up to and including the Black Belt form Taeguk Pal-jang.  That form is required for the test.  The other form will remain shrouded in a cardboard box of secrecy on a torn slip of paper probably enchanted by a mountain sage.  Probably.  After the two form tests, I will perform a display of my kicking ability.  Then I will break boards.  I have never broken boards, nor have I actually recieved training in how to do this.  Fortunately, I'm supposed to break them with a punch.  Many other students at my school dislike this option.  They wish they could chop, or kick.
This boxer smile and begs them "oh no, please don't throw me in that there briar patch!  Anything but that!"
And for my final test, I'll have to fight another black belt.  Winning would be nice here, but it's insufficient for victory.  I've considered using tactics they're completely unused to (Tukkong, boxing, not showering for three weeks before) in order to win, but it turns out I am actually being judged on my ability to fight using taekwondo.  Unorthodox tactics?  no dice.
After that?  Who knows.  Maybe I'll recieve enlightenment.

NINJA TIP:  Lost your passport in an airport?  Assassinate everyone around you and take theirs.  With your ninja mask on, you'll surely be able to pass for one of them.

Tukkong Musul.
First test complete!  And what a scene it was.  Picture, if you will...
The Tukkong studio:  a much shabbier place than the shiny new Taekwondo studio.  This dojang (Korean for Dojo) is unheated, un-air-conditioned, in a building with crumbling walls and stale cigarette smoke and mildew in the stairs.  But through the steel door emblazoned with the eagle of the Korea World Tukkong Assosciation, things get different in a hurry.  Yes, the students near the portable gas heater are boiling, and yes the students by the thin windows are shivering, but every green belt (third level) student here is an equal match for any black belt at the Taekwondo school.  Come testing day, however, things get serious.
The Instructor's desk is moved to the front of the Dojang, and hung with the flag of the Assosciation.  In perfect rows, we kneel at the back.  Names are called.  Test takers are acknowledged.  The testing begins.
My name is called.
I rise from the kneeling ranks,eyes watching me and wondering "can the foreigner really do it?"
"I am Jeff" I declare in korean.  (somewhere, a gladiator is wishing he could sue me)
I bow, giving the fist-in-hand salute, advance to the testing area, and strike the attack stance.
The instructor calls out the commands, and I begin.
I cycle through the blocks, strikes, and stances, calling their names.
"Geongyeok! Pangeo! Pyeongjasae! Abgubi!-" I try to keep my mind two steps ahead, so I never have to hesitate.  Finishing the stances, I take up the striking pose.  The instructor gives the go-command.
"Jongkwan! Kwansuk! Deungkwan! Ansudo!-" My mind slips.  I can't remember the name of the knuckle strike that targets the xyphoid process at the tip of the sternum.  I run through the list, my body on autopilot, carelessly beating the ever-loving crap out of the helpless air in front of me.  A fraction of a second before the strike comes up, it comes back to me,
"Jungjikwan!"
The strikes and blocks fly by, and I give a final kiyap (that whole HIYA! thing), and hit the last pose.
"Baro", the instructor commands me to return.  I bow and kneel at the back. 
Two days later, I drop my rookie rank forever and join the multicolored multitudes with my still-creased yellow belt. 

I did eventually come to a decision about how to leave my mark on this world as a Badass.  A creed doesn't last the way the sculptures and pottery of the Romans and Greeks did.  So one my exploits are known around the world, I would like to be depicted as the heroes and myths used to be:
Armed with their trademark weapon, defeating powerful enemies, and heroically nude.
I'm only willing to compromise on two of those.

Oh, one last ninja-note.  A student told me my female co-teacher watched Dragonball Z.  I found it strange that a woman who was several years my senior watched this martial arts Japanese cartoon.  I asked her about it in the office.
"Yes of course!  Which series of it?"
"Are you talking about Dragonball?" my supervisor asked.
Before I knew it, every single Korean teacher was discussing their favorite characters in the show, and I could only catch occasional names as they all slipped back into korean.  The youngest among them was 27, and others were in their thirties.  Our concept of Anime-Nerd is largely irrelevant here.


I'll leave you with this thought, from the Ask A Ninja,

What CAN'T a ninja do?
Not be a ninja.



...or can we?


'Til next time,
Jeff-Teacher

Evening News

Aaaand you're watching 14HoursAndAWorld- once again 14 Hours away from my native home.  Here... are tonight's top stories!
Jeans!  Are you really getting what you think you're getting?
And, your opportunity to be a part of the 14 Hours and a World experience-
Can you write?  This station needs your help!

Tonight's top story is jeans.  You've seen them everywhere: on the fashion conscious youth, on cowboys in the movies, smuggled into the Soviet Union at impossible prices, jeans are an indespensably American mark on the world.  Everyone has their favorite pair, you probably know your size and the fit you like by heart- But what if the jeans you bought simply didn't match up?
To find our answer, we sent our one reporter to the crowded shopping centers of Korea in an attempt to find a pair of jeans that fit his taste.  Jeff?

Thanks Jeff.  I'm here buying a pair of jeans, and let me tell you, it's not the easy, laid back experience it is at American Eagle in Coralville, Iowa.  As you can see, the crowd is packed in, jostling around me.  The store itself is not much bigger than most people's bedrooms...and that's just how the Koreans like it.  With space at a premium in this country, you rarely find a store the size of an American store.  So we have to do without luxuries like room or dressing rooms.  In a rare few stores, there will be a curtain in one corner that can hide the changer.  But in many, like this store, it's not an option.  So all I've got to go on are my size and fit preferences...And even those won't be what I'm expecting.  Having never bought clothes in metric sizes, its very confusing to see a size 74 jean or a shoe in 835- but that's not the end of it. 
     You see, in America, we like our jeans to fit loose, straight leg, slim, or skinny.  And if you look on the shelf behind me, you'll see those same labels.  Unfortunately for unsuspecting americans, buying a loose fit jean here will get you a US-slim.  Buying straight leg will get you skinny.  Slim fit here is often skinnier than american skinny jeans.  As for korean skinny fit- I would only advise them for olympic swimmers or super heroes.  Jeff?

Thanks, Jeff.  Tonight's broadcast needs help from the viewers!  Our field correspondent has the story.

Jeff here, as you know if you've been following my recent reality martial arts series Ninja Strike Death Power Warrior, I'm participating in Korea's cultural martial arts both traditional and modern with the goal of facing a champion of each art after my shortened period of training.  In colloquial english, someone who engages in such an activity is known as a Badass.  Tvtropes defines this term:

A character who gets away with outright insane stunts (defusing a bomb with their teeth, conning a mob boss, getting into a firefight with the entire army, etc.) that would be VERY hard to pull off in real life. A Badass is a fantasy figure whom the audience roots for precisely because they break or stretch the Willing Suspension Of Disbelief.

                                                 - Tvtropes on Badass

On a related topic, this authority specifies that such a character will often have a creed which specifies how and why they go about their business. The president has the Oath of Office, Green Lantern has a creed (“in brightest day...”) Police have Serve and Protect, the Gunslingers have their own (“I do not aim with my hand...”), Doctors have their own oath (that whole “do no harm” thing)...the list goes on and on.

The challenge to everyone out there tonight is this: If I am to join these coveted ranks, I should have a creed to go along with it. Where to begin? Truth, Justice and perfectly styled hair? Neither rain, nor snow, nor kimchi...? The answer is in your hands. Selected entries will be featured in an upcoming edition of Ninja Strike Death Power Warrior. Many will enter, few will win. Please leave entries in the Comments section.

 On a more serious note, to everyone who is worried- no there's no dangerous radiation here yet.   We're all very worried about Japan though. The whole world is waiting (or should be) to see the fate of the nuclear-threatened nation. The death toll rises daily, refugees are without heat, please don't forget what has happened. Even Koreans, many of whom bear a hatred toward Japan that most westerners can't fathom, were among the first to arrive to aid in the rescue, cleanup, and reconstruction efforts. Please don't think of this only in terms of what beef or yoghurt you shouldn't buy. I would ask only that you make yourself aware of what actually occurred in the tragedy and its aftermath. If that motivates you to give any kind of aid, it will be appreciated by a nation in need.
If anyone remembers Requiem Gilkyson from chamber choir years ago, it's definitely in the forefront of my mind again.

mother mary, full of grace, awaken
all our homes are gone, our loved ones taken
taken by the sea
mother mary, calm our fears, have mercy
drowning in a sea of tears, have mercy
hear our mournful plea
our world has been shaken,
we wander our homelands forsaken
in the dark night of the soul
bring some comfort to us all,
o mother mary come and carry us in your embrace
that our sorrows may be faced
mary, fill the glass to overflowing
illuminate the path where we are going
have mercy on us all
in fun'ral fires burning
each flame to your myst'ry returning
in the dark night of the soul
your shattered dreamers, make them whole,
o mother mary find us where we've fallen out of grace,
lead us to a higher place
in the dark night of the soul
our broken hearts you can make whole,
o mother mary come and carry us in your embrace,
let us see your gentle face, mary
                                                        -Eliza Gilkyson

Til next time,
Jeff-Teacher

And now, a word from viewers like You!

To the writers of the Jeff M. Davis Show,

First of all, let me say I'm a big fan. Great casting, great writing, really believable characters, love it all. This show has had its ups and downs, but it has just gotten better with the last few seasons. That is actually what prompted me to write to you today- the most recent season. What happened there? You had a wonderful drama/intrigue series going along and then decided a scifi/fantasy would be better?

              Let's talk about Jeff, though. Obviously, it's important to get the title character right. You'd had wonderful development of the character the past three seasons, creating more interesting personal dramas and plans for him to create and escape from. Jeff was an amazingly complex cynical mastermind type, the sort of hero you love to hate. And whoever costumed for him did an amazing job with the perfectly flipped up hair and thin ties, I have to admit I had suit envy on more than one occasion. But now what- a kindergarten teacher? Trying to make a difference in people's lives? No plotting? Asian bangs and combat boots? And no offense intended, but Jeff is a Midwest American white boy who had been on a boxing team for one semester. The whole ninja powers stuff...come on. One more thing. I realize you had to cast an attractive actor for the lead role, but you don't need to have all the passerby exclaim that he's a “handsome guy”. He's not that good-looking.

               As for the show itself, it's clear what you're trying to do, and as a firm believer in capitalism, I appreciate the need to appeal to an audience. But you're pushing the bounds of believability here with having two gratuitous fight scenes per episode. And a bombing of a first world country? You know those don't happen very often, right? About the swordsmen in the subway and the pocket-sized navigator-communicator-research device, willing suspension of disbelief only goes so far. As for neglecting to provide pants to all the females in minor roles-- I understand you have the thirteen-year-old male audience to worry about, but no one's gonna believe people actually dress like that.
                Regarding the cast...what was so wrong with the one you had? Last season was probably one of the better casts the show had seen, with wonderful leadership politics and excellent performances by the actors. There was great tension between complimentary and opposing personalities, there were dramatic situations galore, there was romance and character development...And what did you do with them? Swapped them out for foreigners so you could have cheap culture shock humor (and I still don't believe Koreans consider it polite to tell someone they look bad today). You took out the romantic tension of will-they-or-won't-they and made last season's love interest his actual girlfriend (and we all know Jeff doesn't do the whole relationship thing). AND you traded all of the excellent driving sequences for high kicks and mountain temples.

                 The camera and directing need mentioned here too. Last season had a really closely-shot intimate feel to the camerawork. All of the scenes felt like you were right there in the rooms with the characters, like your world was really as small as theirs. This year's director seems obsessed with sweeping panoramas of mountains or rivers (the number of times you've had “crossing the Han River into Seoul” shots is getting ridiculous) or worse, concrete jungle shots. I realize there are many cool places to see. But you can only appreciate the beauty around you for so long before you start to miss the people hidden on the other side of the shot.

                  Like many of my friends, these were the staples of why we returned to the show every week. The Jeff M. Davis show was the pinnacle of clever dialogue and intriguing drama in our tv regimens. Your turning our favorite suave trickster into a futuristic action hero in a fantasy land is going to alienate a lot of your fanbase. The unsubtitled foreign language bits don't really help either.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Viewer

P.S.
Whatever happened to the Traveler's Tips segments? Those were great stuff!

P.P.S.

Changing the soundtrack entirely to Korean Pop was actually a really good choice, though.  So catchy!

Ooooooooh! We're half-way the-ere!

OOOO-OOOH!  LIVIN ON A i totally just made you sing my title in your head.  But truly, we are halfway there, as I now have less time left in Korea than I have already spent in Korea.  To all my readers who have stuck with me til now, I salute you.  Six more months of this, right?  And holy cow is it ever going fast/slow! (choose appropriate adjective.) 
Because it does feel both, at times.
With my schedule changes, Wednesdays are now an endless slog of classes, without break from the time my workday officially starts at 2:40 until my last class ends at 8:30.  And then I'm required to stay until ten, writing lessons-- So there are days where it feels like the year is moving uphill through six feet of snow. 
And then there are the sunday nights like tonight, after the weekends have flashed by, where I realize another week is gone, and I have to wonder what opportunities I've missed in Korea this week- what sights I've sacrificed seeing so I could catch up on sleep, make it to my lessons, or survive as a teacher. 
Boy oh boy, living gets in the way of Living sometimes.

Korean lessons continue to improve my chances of actually doing something with a Politics degree- I still can't converse fluently in the language, but at least the basic sentence structures are slowly unfolding in the conversations of people around me.  Words were one thing to pick out, but picking out the to-whoms and command forms are an entirely different story.  And let's not even start on honorifics (words that change in length and pronunciation when talking to someone older, younger, the same age, or a different sex than you).  The language is certainly not a simple one.

But then, neither is English.  I'm now teaching the highest-level grammar class instead of my former conversation class, and it has forced me to admit-- I know absolutely no English grammar terminology.  Can I tell you what sentence is right and which is wrong?  Absolutely!  I'll even throw in a correct version to sweeten the deal, and give you a free pine-tree shaped air-thingy that smells like stale Nilla Wafers to hang on the mirror.  But when asked "What is the object of this sentence?"...I had only my college education to rely on.
And that education was in politics and speaking.
Well, let's see what the answer book says...Why do you think it says that?  Who can tell me what the object is in this similar sentence?  Good, David. Does that help, Susan? 
But blustering can't hold one forever (outside of the US senate).  Eventually they realized I didn't have all the answers, I hadn't planned to lead them to the conclusion they reached, and sometimes I just plain didn't know what I was talking about.  And that's the point when I had to tell the class, "You're right on question four.  Sometimes I'm wrong too, that's ok."


Were this an inspirational blog or a sit-com, this is the point where I'd wrap up with a message about how much you can learn from someone you thought you were there to teach.  Or a message about how we all need to reexamine the belief that we are always right. 
But this is a blog of a true life story.  And in life, your problems aren't resolved at the end of a half-hour episode.  I'm going to be back in that class tomorrow, and they'll still want answers that are beyond my ability to give.  My role in classes now has been changed from an Educator in the conversation class to a test proctor in the grammar class.  This was the moment I first realized I'm not here because of a special skillset that put me ahead of the competition-- I'm here because I'm marketable as an American, and I'm willing to do the job for the price they offered. 

Capitalism rules the world, folks.  And whether you and I like it or not is irrelevant.  My time here is not about making a difference, it's about a contract.  I want to offer this bit of wisdom to anyone looking at teaching abroad: On the job, when it comes down to how you feel you should act vs how you're paid to act...

You've got a job to do
'Til next time,
Jeff-Teacher