Efficacious Reading

I walked to Barnes & Noble today to look around. I wandered through the history section, and looked at some Shelby Foote books. You probably know that guy from Ken Burns’s The Civil War series. I liked him as the Civil War expert. I leafed through some of his books, thinking I’d like to read one (even though I knew I would never do so).

In the morning, I looked at the front page on my complimentary USA Today and saw that he died around the same time that I was looking at his books.

I hope it didn’t have anything to do with me.

The Tigger voice guy and the Piglet voice guy died this week, but I doubt my viewing of Pooh’s Huffalump Movie caused it. I’d hate to have that kind of power.

Stop Talking to Me

The conference is filled with almost 100 teachers from around the world. They are all employees of the Department of Defense. Talking with them makes me want to go to Europe more than every before. At one time, I believed that all new hires went to Korea/Japan, before playing the waiting game until an assignment opens in Europe. I am finding out that it is not the case. I met four guys who were hired at the same time I was: three are in Italy and one in Spain. After saying hi, the inevitable next question is, “Where’ya from?” They tell me they are from Italy, Belgium, Spain, and Portgual. I ask how they like it, and the answer is always, “I love it. It’s a great place to be.” After a few moments of me asking questions of the climate, touring, and foods (imagining me in each aspect of their story), they ask me the same question.

Them: “So, where’ya from?”
Me: “Korea. Osan.”

(Awkward silence as I see pity in their expression. Eyes shift down, what can only mean that they are wondering what kind of screw-up that I must be to be sent to the DoDDS Siberia as an anathema. Their lips purse thinking of being forced into eating kimchee. They rub their chin trying to ask questions about my climate, touring, culture. No further questions come to mind easily.)

Them: “How do you, uh, like it?”
Me: “I think break time is over. We should go back to class.”

I decide that I cannot stand to see that pained, compassionate look anymore, so I decide to let them go free. I will then avoid them for the remainder of the week. I’ve burned through about 75 of them in this fashion. I still have 25 or so left for the next two days. I am spending a lot of time in my room. I can’t interact too quickly and waste the rest of them before the conference is over.

Right on, Mickey Mantle!

I left the luggage carousel and called for a van, as instructed. I got in the van and waited for other passengers. Joe, the driver, asked if I was going to that “tea-cha confrence” in Nashua. I told him that I was, and then he felt free to explain to me, in great detail, his military experience. He was trying my I’ve-been-on-a-plane-all-day patience, but he was friendly, and I was trying to be, too.

Soon, another passenger arrived. I knew that she was a teacher immediately because she had That Look. In fact, I told her that after we introduced ourselves, but I think she took it as an insult. Maybe it was. As we changed information on our duty assignments (she’s in Japan), I noticed her fondness for the phrase, “Right on!” with that annoying emphasis and tonal shift on the second word. This type of speaking is usually reserved for adult hippies or youth pastors with goatees trying hard to "be relevant" to today's teens. She used it fluently on details that I thought did not necessitate such urgency.

Me: “I’m from Osan, Korea.
Her: “Right on! Do you like it?”
Me: “It’s alright for a first assignment.”
Her: “Right on!”
Me: “I’ve been to Tokyo last year, and I loved it.”
Her: “Right on!”

On the way to the hotel, we passed a Boston Red Sox sign. Joe the Cabbie told us about the Red Sox-Yankees feud. He told us about a boyhood fantasy that he had (I was getting nervous at this time in the story) that involved watching Mickey Mantle running for a fly ball and then Joe the Boy shooting him in the head. He laughed, and I shuddered and wondered where his middle school guidance counselor was during this time in his life. He laughed at his own story; she said, “Wow! Rock on!” Similar to her early phrase, the syllabic emphasis rested comfortably on only the first word. I was confused as to why this story needed the “Rock on” versus the standard “Right on.” Why was Mickey Mantle’s homicide a “Rock” while my current living situation merely a “Right”? What were her categories for distinction?

The remainder of the taxi ride was silent, while we all continued to think about Mickey Mantle’s demise. I think I saw Joe smirking throughout the ride.

A Frothy Cup of Wisdom

“A writer is someone who has written today.” I read that on a Starbucks cup yesterday in Bellevue, and it has bothered me since. Bothered, not encouraged. I want to write -–and I suppose that I even think that I am, or at least, I will be–- a writer someday. Even though my body of work is scant, I comfort myself with the thought that I am working in my head. Those stories will indeed come out as soon as I get the time. But the truth is, I don’t give time to my writing. I am a writer who does not write. So, according to the wisdom of that Starbucks quotation, I am not a writer.

This wouldn’t be much of a shock to my friends or to the people that I work with at school. It would not be the shock that it would be if Stephen King, or Toni Morrison, or even John Grisham announced it on Oprah. No one thinks of me as a writer. Not even me.

I went to Powell’s last Monday to browse while waiting for the train. I wandered down the “Writing Guides” aisle, but I felt too ashamed to pick anything up. I have those writing books. Those and others. I know the rules. I understand that fiction speaks truth of what is within us. I know a few tips to move plot along and to develop character. I also understand that I am neither developing any characters nor moving any plotlines along. During the writing unit I taught to sophomores this past year, I hypocritically preached the gospel of writing, and how they had the power and authority to create new worlds and people. I wondered where my worlds are and why no one populates it. It’s akin to the preacher hiding a girlie magazine in his office or the father belting out the tired line to do as he says, not as he does. My feigning passion in the classroom is only a small part of the problem. I’m bothered more because I am not doing something that I really want to do. I felt a bit jealous of the students who were struggling through a story and basked in the rewards of pride that comes with a completed story. When’s the last time I did that?

I’m too old to make a James Gatz-like schedule for a personal timetable to better living. That copy of Hopalong Cassidy just ended up in his father’s possession after Gatsby was shot, anyway. I would like to reestablish the idea that I’d like to write. Perhaps I can be so brazen to say that I will try to write something today, and tomorrow, and after that. I remember that Ray Bradbury advice about writing a short story every day. At the end of the year, I’d have 365 stories, and it’s impossible to write 365 bad stories. I guess that at this point, I’d marvel if I had a canon of that many bad stories. I could be like, well, perhaps I should save words for my stories and not criticize others. For now, anyway.

Between Starbucks and Bradbury, I have plenty to get me started. And you thought Starbucks just made coffee.

Worth Learning

“Thanks, Dan, for showing me some things. No one has ever really taken the time to teach me anything really worth learning.” Carter in In Good Company

What are the things that are worth learning?
I have a list that hasn’t been created yet
One is that a love of a woman will change you
For the better, of course
Treating her well will comeback back to you manifold
Like compounding interest on your money
Perhaps that’s not a good example,
seeing how interest rates are so bad right now

A dog will bring you joy and smiles and frustration
You’ll miss that creature when you are away on trips
And you find comfort in thinking that she misses you, too

Asking questions to others about them will make them like you more
And perhaps you’ll like them better, too

No one likes a talker
Or a show-off
Or a miser
Or a sarcastic tone
Or an airplane-seat hog
Saying “please” and “thank you” will get you what you want
I’ve read How to Win Friends and Influence People
(Not really)

We need to strive to be good
To be better than we are today
Whatever that looks like is up to you, I suppose

Spiky hair, tattoos, and tongue rings are symbols of vanity

Find something to know something about
The more you know about something, the more you remember
Whether it’s scuba, golf, pipes, or comics

Ignore the advice that you should live like today is your last day
On earth
If it was, I’d be depressed

Don’t underestimate the power of a good cup of coffee
On the patio
With a friend

No one cares about your car

Watch for characters to be redeemed in movies
It’s one of my favorite themes
A regular Joe becomes quietly great
In 97 minutes
the time it takes to devour a bucket of popcorn
That could be you

Snapping gum in public is as annoying
as crying babies
and wailing cell phones
I guess because saliva is involved

Listen to Wilco when you can

The knowledge that you are insignificant to this universe
Is beautiful and freeing
And, ironically, makes me feel more significant

Even the insincere like sincere people

We all are replaceable at work
The firefighter, the stock analysis, the teacher, the dishwasher
this knowledge reduces our stress
and removes that proud attitude
Backwards logic is still logic

Everyone likes to watch card tricks
Learning a few will break the ice with people

Reading makes you smarter
Walk a few moons in the moccasins of
Huck Finn
Atticus Finch
Tom Joad
They will school you in a thing or two

Being jealous of the power or possessions of others
Gets you nowhere but unhappy

Love the city you live in
Or move
Same with your job
And friends
And choice of ice cream
And restaurants
And personality

Never criticize the one who irons your clothes

Be cautious about reading self-help books
Especially those in poetry formats
Poets can be pompous, you know

Economy Plus

School ended yesterday with little fanfare. Our morning was spent cleaning our classrooms and offices while dreaming of the summer.

Kristie and I had an interesting morning. We had to:

• Drop Aslan off at her summer home (a student of mine). It was sad; this will be the longest I’ve been away from her.
• Bring seven pieces of luggage to the bus stop, then bringing our car to our garage, and then returning to the bus stop. We had a taxi help with the transportation, but he picked his nose the entire time. I made sure he did not touch my luggage after that.
• Close up the house. I am obsessive about being sure there is nothing left on. I checked the electric fourteen times, each between reassurances that I did not lose my passport and tickets.

We went with friends to stay the night in Seoul before taking a taxi to the airport. Now, we are on a ten-hour flight from Seoul to San Francisco. It’s not yet 6 pm, but everyone is asleep. Perhaps I should be, too. We were on the waiting list for a business-class upgrade, but no luck. Here we are in coach. The guy behind me keeps kicking my seat. However, he has an iPod and a Mac laptop, so I tolerate him.

Here’s a summary of our year, in bulleted form.

• In August, we sold our stuff, rented our house, and I quit my job to move to…Korea.
• Enduring the same question countless times this summer: “You’re moving to Korea? Why?”
• I feel like I’ve rejoined the military
• We’ve gone to Korea, Japan, China, Singapore, Indonesia, and Hawaii.
• Even though the class sizes are so much smaller, I missed teaching at Clackamas often
• Two of the teachers I work with went through vicious divorces
• One teacher who I work with was fired. He and I were hired at the same time. I said goodbye to him yesterday (same guy who was also breaking up with his wife)
• Our principal and vice-principal both took other jobs in Germany
• Eight teachers are transferring to Eurpore (Germany, Italy, Belgium); Kriste and I are jealous
• Highlights of the year: visiting the Great Wall, Bali, and being on the quiz show
• I have two reasons to be excited: not only the summer off, but also the fact that we are going home.

We are looking forward to seeing you sometime this summer!

Korean Counterfeiting

Kristie and I have now entered the realm of counterfeiting in Korea.

Let me explain. As I think I told you, the government pays for our rent while we are here. It’s one of the nicest perks of working for DoDDS. However, the way it’s distributed is a bit of a problem. Rather than give it in monthly increments, they prefer to give it in one lump sum for the year. Since we just renewed our contract for the next year, we had $22,000 deposited in our account. There is not a checking system as we know it in Korea. Rather, I had to withdraw the cash from the bank, and we walked downtown to get it changed into Korean won. Here we are, holding 22 thousand bucks in a brown paper bag. I was suspicious of everyone. Even Kristie.

We found the best exchange rate, and, after waiting a few minutes, had our rent money. We called our landlord, he signed a receipt, and took his money for the year. (Note: there is a side story here regarding our toilet seats. While he was here, Mr. Kim and I were kneeling in front of our toilet wiggling the defective seat. I wondered how I ended up in the bathroom with a Korean sticking his hands all over my toilet bowl searching for loose screws. He later returned with two red Christmas-themed seats with “Santa’s World” written on them. Kristie politely refused them. I thought they’d be kitschy. Kristie then politely told me that “kitschy” is a pretentious word and I should not use it.)

A few days later, we went to the same money exchange place to change more money for our trip to Seoul. He said, “I’m glad you came by. One of those $100 bill is no good. Fake.” I told him that I withdrew it from the bank, but he said that they don’t check the bills there. His bank is sending it back, and I think he expects us to buy it back. Think of the corrupted possibilities here. He wants us to return in a few days to look at it. I’m not sure what the outcome will be (or what I’m supposed to be looking for), but I’m going to go to the bank tomorrow to sort this out.

6th in Seoul

On another note, today is our 6th anniversary. We spent the weekend up here in Seoul (I’m typing this from the coffee shop in the hotel while Kristie sleeps). Yesterday, we had a great plan. First, to an Independent Film Festival at the Seoul Arts Cinema, then a trip to the Rodin Museum (his “Gates of Hell” sculpture is housed here), then we’d have dinner at the Baghdad Magic Café, where there is a magic show. Nice plan. Reality, however, was different. The Seoul Arts Cinema moved to an undisclosed location. The Rodin Museum was closed for June. The Baghdad Magic Café was, as far as we can tell, demolished to make room for high rises. That’s the last time we trust a two-year-old guidebook.

Summer Plans

I’m in the homestretch as far as the school year is concerned. We have two more weeks of classes before heading home for the summer. Here’s our schedule:

June 18-23 Portland/Seattle
June 24-30 New Hampshire (work-related workshop)
July 1-9 Rhode Island
July 10-16 Washington, DC (another workshop)
July 17-August 17 Portland
August 18-20 San Francisco
August 20 Leave for our return to Korea

Even though we are having a grand time gallivanting around, we are homesick to be home (is that a repetitive phrase?).

At least we’ll have plain, firm toilet seats there.